(Dedicated to the innocent souls lost in Pahalgam, Kashmir)
Beneath the skies of stolen blue,
Where mountains whisper and rivers woo,
A meadow danced in morning light,
A ‘Mini Switzerland’ pure and bright.
Dreamers wandered, hearts aglow,
In Pahalgam where soft winds blow,
Where innocence wore hope as crown—
A place of peace, now broken down.
Yet hidden in the valley’s sigh,
Was a sorrow veiled behind the sky,
A pretence of normalcy, spun so thin,
While shadows plotted deep within.
Gunfire shattered song and stream,
A coward’s echo tore the dream,
Blood on lilies, cries on air—
Why must innocence pay despair?
Among the fallen, dreams lay still,
Silenced by an unseen will,
Tourists, seekers of beauty’s grace,
Met violence in a sacred place.
Dr. Bilal Ahmad Bhat rose to mourn,
With heavy heart, with spirit torn,
He called out cowards who dare betray,
The very land they claim to sway.
“This cruelty we cannot defend,”
His voice, a roar the hills could send,
“Enough of blood, enough of lies—
No more tears in Kashmir’s skies!”
Each drop of blood, a broken story,
Each shattered dream, a stolen glory.
Yet hope, like rivers, carves its course,
Through sorrow’s weight and evil’s force.
The meadows will again be gold,
The streams will sing, the hearts be bold.
But we shall never forget this day—
The price of false peace we had to pay.
Kashmir, your wounds are ours to bear,
Your dreams, your grief, your whispered prayer.
And we shall stand, unbowed, unbent,
Till love returns, till hate is spent.
