A Ladishah
Wraith seasoned on cirrus, like a rhapsody of white frills, swinging in an apple orchard, a pashmina shawl she dons on her silvery arms, deciduous woodcarvings shedding blood in bitterly sweet valleys, falling off maturity even when autumn invites spring, curfews clotting homes, stench gunpowder grafitti art sprayed in the line of control, shikaras and willows limping in steep gullies, a gleaming telescope sky-watching, faint sounds heard coming from a lake, 'my moon is red my moon is pale my moon is battered ahoy religion ahoy religion ahoy religion crossfires are offered to preach thy eminence and my prayers deafened.' ©songbriti