but you didn’t.

Remember the day

when i borrowed your new car and dented it?

i thought you’d kill me

but you didn’t.

remember the day i vomited strawberry pie all over your new carpet?

it thought you’d hate me

but you didn’t.

remember that day

i dragged you to the beach and it really was raining as you said it would?

i thought you’d say “i told you so.”

but you didn’t.

remember that time i forgot to tell you that the party was formal wear

and you showed up wearing jeans and a t shirt?

i thought you’d abandon me,

but you didn’t.

yes, there were a lot of things you didn’t do,

but you put up with me.

loved me.

protected me.

there were lots and lots of things i wanted to make up to you

when you came back from Gawkadal,

but you didn’t.

This poem centers around the gruesome Gawkadal massacre that took place on January 21st, 1990, on Gawkadal Bridge, Kashmir, where the Indian paramilitary troops of the Reserve Police Force opened fire on a crowd of Kashmiri innocents, killing up to 250 loved ones and injuring many others. This massacre was one of many that the Indian occupying military committed from 1989 to the late 90s. These inhumane killings caused ripples through which generational trauma and pain flowed. They left many women widowed, many children without parents, and many homes without laughter or joy. The poem “but you didn’t.” attempts to show how the Indian military’s murderings of innocent civilians in Kashmir cause pain to tear through generations of loved ones, leaving much wreckage in its wake.