As we enter the next decade, I want to thank all of the writers and readers who have made our tenth year so successful. I take enormous pride in working with so many talented and inspiring writers. Without your brilliance and generosity of spirit and intellect, none of this would be possible. It has been a great privilege to publish your work on our site, and I hope to continue featuring diverse perspectives, challenging ideas, and unique voices for years to come. As a way to look back on what we accomplished in 2019, I have complied the 50 most popular posts of the year based on internet traffic and clicks.
Thank you again to everyone who wrote for, read, and promoted AIOTB Magazine in 2019. Let the 20s roar again!
Jhelum is disappearing Like the maer* that ran Through the heart of Srinagar, My mother used to play By its embankments. The touch of water has a memory, Memory of a dream in which the World comes to an end. Jhelum is disappearing. Now that, you and me, have lost our language, Our happy roads to each other Let us promise to share our dreams In all their incongruity and dissonance, Each piece of darkness And each shadow that the moon casts As we turn our back on it; Even the one in which you see yourself Fettered to yourself At the tips of your toes; And the one in which we’d wash Our hands together with soap Watching the sullied water Dripping from tips of our soiled fingers Accompanied by useless words Gurgling with our laughter That made others laugh at us. And the ones in which we wandered through wild pine woods With our pieces of jigsaw, lost to each other. Jhelum is disappearing And the jigsaw lies incomplete On the table in the house That we had planned to built. That house still holds us together In the life that has lost us To the posh colonies of Hyderpora And narrow stinking alleys of downtown. One day when both of us are free And long for rest, we may return, To that table with our pieces. But on that day, when it happens, You must bring that ring of smile And I shall bring my old mirror. Poems like waves are reckless You cannot pitch up your tent On their shores. But we must not die, we must Keep the connection even if Only at the tips of our toes.
About the Author:Ishrat Bashir is an Assistant Professor, at the Department of English, Central University of Kashmir. She teaches Short Story, Contemporary Literary Theory and British Drama in the department. She has also worked as Assistant Professor in English in the Department of Higher Education and the South Campus of the University of Kashmir. Her area of interest includes Contemporary Literary Theory, Translation Studies, Arabic literature in translation and Kashmiri literature. She writes poetry and short fiction.
Image Credit: John Burke, photographer (Irish, about 1843 – 1900); William H. Baker, photographer (British, about 1829 – 1880), The Jhelum at Srinager. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.