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 ?