Azadi - Marcella Boccia Titelbild

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 Kunst
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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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