Beauty and Terror

Beauty and Terror This house is paradise murderous, Very big, enough to contain thousands of dead bodies. The dead bodies I drag from my memory, Like the dead tourists from the Baisaran Valley. Wailing mothers waiting for their dead husband, son, and father. This old house will disappear into the earth, But not from my memory. Streets with terror, Land with small dots of houses pooled in blood They waste their blood. We are the natives; We smell the blood of human beings. We gorge on tall chinar trees, pine trees, Whose incessant odor consoles and frightens. I imagine the tourists in this house, Dreaming of going for a trek to Tulian Lake. He stands on a horse, holding a newborn lamb Why do human beings kill this man, Holding so much beauty? Why do terrorists hate beauty? When the terror comes, We crush the memories into tears, Close our dreams, Die in this paradise, And tell our children: Nothing happened. A future ruined before their time. Note:I am from Kashmir, India, and I wrote this poem after the Palgham attack happened in Kashmir. The accident occurred in the most beautiful place called Baisaran. For a couple of months, I was thinking about this accident and wondering why human beings kill each other. To vent and express my emotions, as always, I wrote this poem.Beauty and Terror