Neelum Valley

Days it took
Down slopes, goat-tracks, gullies.
Of resting
Under autumn sky, leafless trees, by boulders.
Days with no food.
Water only from the mountain springs.
For days
I carried her
On my hands like an offering
With others bearing their wounded
Bruised, scarred, broken limbs
On string cots, cotton-sheet stretchers.
The village collapsed on itself
Like steam puffed chapatti on the griddle.
My aunt's shawl bright
With flowers of summer pastures
Was dust-soiled, torn like her.
We buried the dead.