The wealth of tears
stored in the bosom,
since that day.
Kashmiri Pandits –
the genocide victims,
rendered refugees,
in their own country,
‘migrants’ they say.

‘Wailing’ chapters of gory history
sought to be buried, thrown away;
put back into people’s tray.
The magic of cinema,
shows the way.
Spate of tears floods
the humane hearts,
transcending boundaries,
in a natural way;
Bruised souls
refreshed on the way,
Life infused in
the rotting wounds,
The people say,
……… Satyamave Jayate !

Exile memories
be kept alive
night and day,
Tears are the jewels,
cost, no one can pay;
Each carrying
the pain of centuries,
in one or the other way.
Hide the gems,
from the prying eyes,
now, for another day;
Lest any merchant of pain,
steal the treasure in any way;
Home is still, a long way!

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