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Azadi - Marcella Boccia

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.Copyright Azadi - Marcella Boccia Art
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    • The floating home on Dhal Lake (Marcella Boccia)

      The floating home on Dhal Lake (Marcella Boccia)
      Feb 3 2025
      The floating home on Dhal Lake (Marcella Boccia)

      I lived on a houseboat
      a silent vessel drifting on the blue
      of Dhal Lake
      where the lotus flowers bloomed
      like whispers of forgotten dreams
      their petals open to the sky
      as if waiting for the sun to remember
      its warmth In the mornings I would rise
      with the light still soft on the water
      and take the shikara
      a slender boat gliding through the mist
      that clung to the lake like a secret
      The air was cool
      the fragrance of lotus mingling
      with the earthy scent of wet wood
      and the distant hum of the city I rowed through the mist
      my oars cutting through the silence
      of a world that felt suspended in time
      The floating market awaited me
      a place where life rose from the water
      like the bloom of a thousand flowers
      the vendors with their bright baskets
      of vegetables and spices
      the fish gleaming like silver scales
      in the early morning light I would bargain with them
      my words soft
      but my hands quick
      as I traded for fresh greens
      and the flavours that would make a meal
      from the heart of this land
      The market was alive with colour
      the yellow of turmeric
      the red of ripe tomatoes,
      the green of fresh coriander
      and the rich earth-brown of potatoes
      glistening in the cool air And as I rowed back
      my boat now heavy with the bounty
      of Dhal Lake
      I would pass the lotus fields again
      the flowers nodding as if in greeting
      their stems like slender arms
      reaching up from the water
      to touch the sky There was peace in those moments
      a fleeting peace
      that hung between the lotus petals
      and the whispers of the water
      I lived in the heart of a lake
      surrounded by beauty
      but with the weight of a world
      held just beyond the horizon
      where the mountains stood
      and the winds carried the stories of those
      who fought for the land
      for its freedom
      for its soul But in the houseboat on Dhal Lake
      amidst the lotus flowers
      life was simple
      and in that simplicity
      I found a moment of grace
      that would remain in my heart forever
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      4 min
    • The curfew on Dhal Lake (Marcella Boccia)

      The curfew on Dhal Lake (Marcella Boccia)
      Feb 2 2025
      The curfew on Dhal Lake (Marcella Boccia)

      The curfew came like a shroud
      quiet and heavy
      laying itself over the lake
      like a veil of silence
      dimming the world outside
      and keeping me within the narrow walls
      of my houseboat
      anchored to the water
      anchored to a time
      when the horizon seemed far
      and yet was always too close
      The lake usually so full of life
      was empty in those hours
      the shikaras stayed docked
      the vendors quiet
      and the sound of voices
      was swallowed by the stillness
      I would sit by the window
      watching the soft ripples
      of the water catching the fading light
      the boat rocking gently
      like the pulse of a living thing
      Outside the blue kingfishers would dart
      like flashes of fire against the green
      their tiny bodies cutting through the air
      as they skimmed the surface of the lake
      in search of fish
      their wings slicing the wind
      with effortless grace
      They were free
      untouched by the weight
      of the world beyond the water
      and I envied them Above the eagles soared
      their massive wings spread wide
      against the sky
      gliding with the ease of creatures
      that knew the meaning of freedom
      I watched them from the window
      my eyes tracing their flight
      as they circled above the mountains
      soaring higher and higher
      as if they too
      had no care for the curfew
      that held me prisoner in my own home
      In those moments
      when the world outside seemed to sleep
      I found solace in the small things
      the way the kingfishers perched
      on the branches that reached over the water
      the way the eagles would disappear
      into the distant peaks
      and then return like shadows
      a reminder that the world still spun
      even when it felt as though it had stopped
      The curfew might have kept me locked inside
      but the beauty of Dhal Lake
      and its creatures
      kept me alive in ways
      that words could not capture
      For in the stillness
      when the world outside was muffled
      I found the freedom
      of watching the wings of a kingfisher
      or the flight of an eagle
      freedom that lived
      even when the world around me was bound
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      4 min
    • The factory of fire (Marcella Boccia)

      The factory of fire (Marcella Boccia)
      Feb 2 2025
      The factory of fire (Marcella Boccia)

      I walked into the shadows of the factory
      where the whispers of revolution were shaped
      in the heat of a forge
      where hands that once held dreams
      now molded metal into weapons
      The smell of oil and iron filled the air
      heavy like the weight of years
      pressed down on the hearts of men
      who had learned to fight
      not with words but with fire
      The walls were lined with fragments of resistance
      broken shells bent steel
      tools of a war not chosen
      but forged in the blood of those
      who had no other way to speak
      Here the revolutionaries of Kashmir
      crafted their reply to the soldiers
      who patrolled the valley
      with rifles that seemed to have no end
      their boots leaving footprints in the earth
      of a land already worn thin by violence
      I watched as the young men worked
      their faces set with the kind of quiet determination
      that only comes from living with the fire
      of rebellion burning inside
      They bent over their work
      their hands steady
      but their eyes
      their eyes held the story of a land
      that had known nothing but suffering In the corner an old man
      whose hands trembled with age and loss
      held a piece of metal
      shaping it into something lethal
      When he saw me watching
      he didn’t speak
      but I knew what he was thinking
      that in the world of oppression
      the gun was the only voice
      that the world would listen to
      And yet amidst the clamour of metal and smoke
      I saw the hope in their eyes
      the belief that one day
      this factory would be a relic of a past
      where weapons were needed
      to defend the freedom
      that had been stolen
      But until that day came
      they would work
      and they would fight
      with the fire that burned in their hearts
      And I the poet
      stood in the shadows of the factory
      watching the hands of revolutionaries
      shape the very tools of their resistance
      knowing that their fire
      their struggle
      would one day light the world
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      3 min
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