The sky is older than all of us. Older than borders. Older than flags. Older than the loud speeches of those who think they own the earth. Every night it watches. Tonight, the sky is restless. Not because of clouds. Not because of rain. Because of fire.

Flashes rise from the ground like angry questions. Metal birds scream through the darkness. The sky hears them first. Before the people below understand. Boom. Another light. Another explosion. The sky sighs.

It has seen this before. Long ago. Very long ago. When kings absurdly thought that they owned the world, it was all theirs. When armies marched ahead with drums and flags. When cities were gutted, and children screamed the same way they scream today.

Nothing much has changed. Only the machines and technology have. The sky watches buildings fall. Walls collapse like old lies, finally too heavy to stand. Dust scrambles upward. Trying to touch the sky.

A child somewhere in a school is drawing clouds in a notebook. A small blue sky with birds and sunshine. That notebook is now under rubble. But the sky remembers that child. The sky remembers everything.

It recalls the ripples of laughter that once drifted from those streets. The smell of bread from a morning bakery. The school bell that rang with perfect timing, announcing the start of the day.

And now. Thunderclaps. Sirens. Ambulances. Running feet. People carrying people. The sky does not understand one thing. Why the smallest hearts suffer for the largest egos. The sky looks down and whispers, “Why do those who cannot create life destroy it so easily?”

However, no one hears the sky. Humans are busy. Busy with power. Busy with revenge. Busy proving who is stronger. Somewhere, a group of people meet in a room full of screens. Maps glowing. Numbers moving. They believe they control everything. Coordinates. Targets. Decisions.

They consider themselves the most powerful on the planet. The sky smiles mockingly. Because the sky has seen thousands like them. Emperors. Monarchs. Rulers. Generals. Dictators. All those who believed the earth moved at their command.

Where are they now? Dust. Names in history books. Statues depleted by weather. But the sky remains. Always watching. Always remembering.

Tonight it watches mothers running with children in their arms. It watches aged people sitting mutely outside broken houses. It watches people leaving homes they may never see again. Displacement. Such a small word. Such a heavy reality. A suitcase. A blanket. A photograph saved from the fire. And a long road into uncertainty.

The sky watches a kid asking his father, “Why is the sky angry tonight?” The father doesn’t know how to answer. Because the sky is not angry. The sky is grieving. It grieves for children who should have been asleep. For schools that should have been full of mirth. For cities that should have been flashing with life and liveliness.

The sky also notices something else. Something strange. Some people die. But they do not disappear. Their ideas remain. Their courage remains. Their dreams remain. History knows many such people. They lived. They died. Yet they continue walking in the minds of others.

Ideas are stubborn things. Bombs cannot bury them. Missiles cannot silence them. Fire cannot erase them. The sky has seen this truth many times. Sometimes the most powerful force on earth is not a throne. It is an idea. An idea about dignity. About justice. About peace. And those ideas survive long after the explosions stop.

Tonight the sky is utterly spent. It wants silence. It wants serenity. It wants children to sleep without fear. It wants cities to sparkle with ordinary lights instead of fire. It wants humans to remember something simple. That power is temporary. Control is an illusion. The earth does not belong to anyone. It belongs to time. And the sky.

The sky will still be here tomorrow. Watching. Waiting. Hoping some day humans will look up; see the infinite stillness above them; and finally understand how small they and their wars really are!

© Greater Kashmir