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Azadi - Marcella Boccia
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"Azadi" by the Italian poet Marcella Boccia is a poignant collection of poetry that explores the struggles of Kashmir during the summer of 2006. Through vivid and raw verses, Marcella reflects on the conflict, resistance, and yearning for freedom, captured in moments of both beauty and hardship. The poems portray the lives of revolutionaries, grieving women, and the poet’s personal journey in a land under occupation, giving voice to those silenced by violence. "Azadi" is a testament to the resilience of the Kashmiri people and a powerful call for freedom.
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The floating home on Dhal Lake (Marcella Boccia)
Feb 3, 202500:03:45Tap to summarizeThe floating home on Dhal Lake (Marcella Boccia)I lived on a houseboata silent vessel drifting on the blueof Dhal Lakewhere the lotus flowers bloomedlike whispers of forgotten dreamstheir petals open to the skyas if waiting for the sun to rememberits warmth In the mornings I would risewith the light still soft on the waterand take the shikaraa slender boat gliding through the mistthat clung to the lake like a secretThe air was coolthe fragrance of lotus minglingwith the earthy scent of wet woodand the distant hum of the city I rowed through the mistmy oars cutting through the silenceof a world that felt suspended in timeThe floating market awaited mea place where life rose from the waterlike the bloom of a thousand flowersthe vendors with their bright basketsof vegetables and spicesthe fish gleaming like silver scalesin the early morning light I would bargain with themmy words softbut my hands quickas I traded for fresh greensand the flavours that would make a mealfrom the heart of this landThe market was alive with colourthe yellow of turmericthe red of ripe tomatoes,the green of fresh corianderand the rich earth-brown of potatoesglistening in the cool air And as I rowed backmy boat now heavy with the bountyof Dhal LakeI would pass the lotus fields againthe flowers nodding as if in greetingtheir stems like slender armsreaching up from the waterto touch the sky There was peace in those momentsa fleeting peacethat hung between the lotus petalsand the whispers of the waterI lived in the heart of a lakesurrounded by beautybut with the weight of a worldheld just beyond the horizonwhere the mountains stoodand the winds carried the stories of thosewho fought for the landfor its freedomfor its soul But in the houseboat on Dhal Lakeamidst the lotus flowerslife was simpleand in that simplicityI found a moment of gracethat would remain in my heart forever
Transcribe →The curfew on Dhal Lake (Marcella Boccia)
Feb 2, 202500:03:40Tap to summarizeThe curfew on Dhal Lake (Marcella Boccia)The curfew came like a shroudquiet and heavylaying itself over the lakelike a veil of silencedimming the world outsideand keeping me within the narrow wallsof my houseboatanchored to the wateranchored to a timewhen the horizon seemed farand yet was always too closeThe lake usually so full of lifewas empty in those hoursthe shikaras stayed dockedthe vendors quietand the sound of voiceswas swallowed by the stillnessI would sit by the windowwatching the soft ripplesof the water catching the fading lightthe boat rocking gentlylike the pulse of a living thingOutside the blue kingfishers would dartlike flashes of fire against the greentheir tiny bodies cutting through the airas they skimmed the surface of the lakein search of fishtheir wings slicing the windwith effortless graceThey were freeuntouched by the weightof the world beyond the waterand I envied them Above the eagles soaredtheir massive wings spread wideagainst the skygliding with the ease of creaturesthat knew the meaning of freedomI watched them from the windowmy eyes tracing their flightas they circled above the mountainssoaring higher and higheras if they toohad no care for the curfewthat held me prisoner in my own homeIn those momentswhen the world outside seemed to sleepI found solace in the small thingsthe way the kingfishers perchedon the branches that reached over the waterthe way the eagles would disappearinto the distant peaksand then return like shadowsa reminder that the world still spuneven when it felt as though it had stoppedThe curfew might have kept me locked insidebut the beauty of Dhal Lakeand its creatureskept me alive in waysthat words could not captureFor in the stillnesswhen the world outside was muffledI found the freedomof watching the wings of a kingfisheror the flight of an eaglefreedom that livedeven when the world around me was bound
Transcribe →The factory of fire (Marcella Boccia)
Feb 2, 202500:03:22Tap to summarizeThe factory of fire (Marcella Boccia)I walked into the shadows of the factorywhere the whispers of revolution were shapedin the heat of a forgewhere hands that once held dreamsnow molded metal into weaponsThe smell of oil and iron filled the airheavy like the weight of yearspressed down on the hearts of menwho had learned to fightnot with words but with fireThe walls were lined with fragments of resistancebroken shells bent steeltools of a war not chosenbut forged in the blood of thosewho had no other way to speakHere the revolutionaries of Kashmircrafted their reply to the soldierswho patrolled the valleywith rifles that seemed to have no endtheir boots leaving footprints in the earthof a land already worn thin by violenceI watched as the young men workedtheir faces set with the kind of quiet determinationthat only comes from living with the fireof rebellion burning insideThey bent over their worktheir hands steadybut their eyestheir eyes held the story of a landthat had known nothing but suffering In the corner an old manwhose hands trembled with age and lossheld a piece of metalshaping it into something lethalWhen he saw me watchinghe didn’t speakbut I knew what he was thinkingthat in the world of oppressionthe gun was the only voicethat the world would listen toAnd yet amidst the clamour of metal and smokeI saw the hope in their eyesthe belief that one daythis factory would be a relic of a pastwhere weapons were neededto defend the freedomthat had been stolenBut until that day camethey would workand they would fightwith the fire that burned in their heartsAnd I the poetstood in the shadows of the factorywatching the hands of revolutionariesshape the very tools of their resistanceknowing that their firetheir strugglewould one day light the world
Transcribe →In the shadows of war (Marcella Boccia)
Feb 2, 202500:02:30Tap to summarizeIn the shadows of war (Marcella Boccia)In the dark of a war-torn nightWe metlike stars in a sky of smokeYour eyesa fire I could not fightA blaze that burned through the cloak of hopeYoufrom a land of ancient songWith a tongue that hummed of history’s graceAnd Ia stranger to your worldso longLost in the chaossearching for a traceOur hands brushedhesitant but boldA touch that defied the world’s cruel fightIn your gazea love untoldA promise made in the quiet of nightWe hid beneath the rubblein the dustWhere soldiers’ boots echoed like death’s own treadYet in your armsin the tempestwe found trustA love that bloomed where others bledThe language of war was all aroundBut we spoke in whispersin silent eyesIn your kissno borders could be foundOnly the heart’s deepestuntold sighsYour lips were fireyour soul a seaAnd Ia traveler lost and bareFell into youwhere love could beA place untouched by the world’s despairIn the shadow of warwe made our own lightTwo souls from worlds apartBut in that darkforbidden nightWe found lovefiercedefiantand smart
Transcribe →The cry of the Women in Black (Marcella Boccia)
Feb 2, 202500:04:27Tap to summarizeThe cry of the Women in Black (Marcella Boccia)They wear the blacka veil that drapes over their griefa shroud of sorrow that no eyes can pierceno words can sootheThey stand in the streetssilent but for the cry that trembles in the aira cry that carries through the valleyand echoes through the mountainsan inconsolable soundthat the world does not hearTheir husbands taken in the nightpulled from their beds by the hands of soldiersdragged into the darknessnever to returnThe doors they once passed throughnow shut tight with a quiet crueltytheir homes emptiedby the violence of an occupationthat steals not only livesbut hope itselfThe womenin their black burqasare like shadows in the streetstheir faces hiddenbut their hearts laid bare for all to seeThey cry for the husbandswho never came homefor the men whose bodies are lost to themwhose names are erasedby the bullets that tore through themand the silence that swallowed111their final breath"Give us the body"they crytheir voices cracking with grieftheir eyes pleading for justicethat will never come"Let us bury himlet us say goodbye"But the soldiersthe ones who took themwho tore apart their familiesrefuseThey keep the bodies hiddenlocked away in the cold earthunseenungrievedunrememberedThe women are left to mournin the streetsin their homesin the emptiness of their heartsEach day they waittheir sorrow a wound that will never healAnd each daythe silence grows louderthe absence of their loved onesa wound that time cannot touchThey are the women in blackthe mothers of the disappearedthe wives of the fallenTheir cries rise like smokea bitter cloud over a landthat refuses to mourn with them112And yetthey do not stopthey will not stopThey gather in the streetswith nothing but their sorrowand a plea for a body they may never holdTheir voicesthough hushedare stronger than any gunshotFor even in their despairthey rememberthey endureand they carry the memoryof their lost husbandsthe memory of the menwho will never returnAnd sothe women in black weepa cry that will not fadea cry that will haunt the landuntil the daywhen the truth of their painis heard by those who have the powerto return their mento bring them homeso they can finally restbeneath the soil of their landwhere they belong
Transcribe →The road to Srinagar (Marcella Boccia)
Feb 2, 202500:02:25Tap to summarizeThe road to Srinagar (Marcella Boccia)Two days of dust and sunthe jeep rattled over roads of stonepast the cries of villages silent with fearand mountains that whispered of warsfought long before we arrivedthe air thick with the scent of fireand the hum of tires on fractured earthI saw the long line of military trucksa river of men and weaponsflowing like a dark tidetoward the valley where the lotus bloomsand the gunfire never sleepsIn the distancethe mountains stood like giantstheir faces hidden in the mistand I wonderedif they remembered the sound of peaceor if the echoes of war had long drowned it outbeneath the weight of blood and stoneThe soldiers sat in their truckstheir faces unreadable as stonetheir eyes dead as the land they treadyet we moved forwardthe only thing that still livedwas the road beneath our feeta road carved through centuries of painWe passed the fields where children once playednow still as gravesand I thought of the lives
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