Ghulam Nabi is in form,

Has taken upon himself to inform,

 

That anything can be bought,

And everything is  on shop,

 

For sale in the Vale of Paradise ,

Now in a thinly veiled disguise

 

Of Graveyard , is actually a Bazaar,

Where transactions as bizarre

 

As lifeblood for pipedreams

Of Freedom from two Realms,

 

Are carried out in broad daylight,

Peace is neither promised ,nor is in sight.

 

Collaterals are offered by forces,

Commissions are collected in corpses,

 

Hands to pelt stones are on hire ,

As are fingers on guns to be fired,

 

Throats at pennyworth of bullets to raise hell,

Slogans at price of peanuts they sell,

 

Stomachs  willing to consume free Indian rice ,

The Cause is betrayed for a still smaller price.

 

Ghulam Nabi and his bosses are in  no mood to perform,

Nor are they willing to let new bridges be formed,

 

Wonder why did he commodify common folks of Kashmir

Perhaps he thundered so that the neighbour might hear.

 

Hear, hear this Quisling’s empty bombast,

For whose benefit did  he broadcast ?