This guest post is a poem by UZAIR, who grew up near the Indian side of the ‘Line of Control’ in Poonch

The river carries with it
Snow of distant peaks,
Floating memories
Twigs, leaves.

Only a few miles west
it would be stripped
at the border, asked
to produce a permit,
shot dead or may be not.

Waters were negotiated upon;
so the river travels seamlessly
only a few miles west
to another country.

On its bank, I heard
a cuckoo speak
“The sun shines during day
and stars illuminate the night sky
even across the border”

“And a few collect the twigs
like memories of childhood;”

“smell of dead wood, so familiar
grief and longing, so natural
decades of hope; still alive,
even across the border”

One day the river would flow
eastwards, said the old man
whose corpse floated across,
only a few miles west
and met his children
across the border.

(Uzair blogs at Untitled Untitled.)

See also:

• AFP: Fear in villages near LoC as Pakistan, India trade heavy fire