i am a daughter of my unfortunate motherland. A mother(land) that feeds on the blood of her sons. my childhood was lost in the conflict torn lanes of old sringar city. no music played in my childhood. the ear piercing sounds of bullets and blasts overwhelmed every other sounds, even the wails and shreiks of mourning n crying women. i have seen funerals, breathed in terror, grown amid deaths,now it is the time to narrate the tales. whatever happened earlier continues to happen, nothing has changed since then, the same is the suppression the same are the opressors. if something has changed, it is the martyrs graveyard that is few meters away from my home. it is swelling up with the sacrifices....