Aren’t they contented at least that the people
of Kashmir under the sky are above suspicion,
as the coercion eats the valley
Of the bad, they supply to us, that their bloodshed
is hotheaded disapprobation for our gnarly etiquette
Our never-ceasing clamor, a morsel of armament
For their keeping the valley so curfewed and snug
That no one, however persistent,
Could breach it
Imagine if they felt certain how much was owed them,
How the expected weight of their autocracy would crush us,
Even if they relished keeping the people no longer alive,
Unlucky for us they don’t know what they are doing
These unhinged and preposterous creatures of gloomy and depraved dwelling
Who eat simply to live, afflict and beat down, with no more sense of pursuit.
Better save our gratitude for a martyr who gives us more than we can give in return.
If I had freedom, I’d give it to you to protect yourself against enemies
The enslaved man says, who, having nothing accessible
In the solid, indicative Valley,
So then you might believe you are free from harm
In that domineering valley of Kashmir.