I wonder if the devils have encroached on my soul
Or an alien force has captured my imagination –

Six long years have come and gone.
I recall a Kashmir afternoon 
When beauty flowered on spring boughs,
Bending in mirth at April’s green.

Purple or violet, I do not remember –
An inflorescence in the well-done garden
Of the next-door neighbor in my parental home.

A partly done verse on a piece of paper 
Torn off an unused notebook
Left in a corner unattended
And undisturbed for years to come.

And many a cold winters I recall 
On that broken bridge of Khośhāl Sar,^[1] 
A book or two in my hands 
And in my pocket a pen,

When the heaven’s eye stole its way
From behind the Hari Parbat,^[2]
And a mischievous monster hit my back
With a snowball hard, and hid.

And the cutting sound of the rowing hanjis ^[3]
Breaking against the frozen Sar 
To wake me up a hundred times
From the lap of sleep –

Sound and maternal. 

Walking up the lake and down 
As the sun made its path forward
Glittering in the crystal waters,
Ripples dancing, painted with stars.

Searching for a verse, still unwritten,
Against my window my day began.


© Sadaf Munshi (Austin, Feb 8, 2003)

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^[1] Khošhāl Sar (lit. ‘happy lake’) is the name of a lake in Srinagar.

^[2] Hari Parbat is the name of a hill in Srinagar. A historical fort by the same name is situated on this hill. 

^[3] Hanji ‘boatman; a person who lives in a houseboat and usually takes care of and runs canoes and may keep also houseboat(s) for a living by renting them to tourists’