Photo 1
One hand to the weeping eye,
(like a poet to the paper),
one gazing the frame.
This is your childhood photo,
the first you shared with me.
You gaze into the camera
like those horror movie protagonists
ready to avenge the murders,
with all the whispering cousins
filling the background.
Photo 2
The one with your Professor.
This is from your University days.
You are wearing the red of the revolution
and the white of the shroud,
(You will say Peace),
squeezing Michael Robartes and the Dancer
between your fingers.
Did the Professor discuss
Ireland and Kashmir,
Yeats and Gonne
You and me too?
Photo 3
You are wearing
that rare smile,
an Aran jumper,
a nude lip gloss.
This is the last photograph,
the one among many
Obituaries,
Martyrs and Missing persons
in a daily Kashmiri newspaper.
It is only
when looked closely
into the pixlated space,
that one recognises,
the Gaze, the Irishness
the Death, the Revolution.
