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Beneath the heavens, where snow-capped peaks sigh,
Lies Kashmir, the earth’s own paradise.
Zamin par Jannat, they say,
A realm of splendor, where shadows sway.
Where rivers flow with glacial, hushed grace,
Maples whisper in the gentle breeze.
Apples ripen on wayside orchards,
Their sweetness masks a deeper sorrow's pleas.
Dal’s waters glisten in a golden hue,
Shikaras drift, as if stillness grew.
Houseboats rest by the lake serene,
But vigilance taints this tranquil scene.
Pahalgam’s meadows, Gulmarg’s soft snow,
A wondrous charm that hearts bestow.
Aru whispers with streams so pure,
Yet the weight of silence, you must endure.
Yet hope endures in the Pashmina thread,
In hands that weave, where no tears are shed.
In the apple’s taste, the Shikara’s glide,
In the faith that peace will one day reside.
While Amarnath pilgrims chant in holy grace,
The echoes of sorrow still find their place.
Pulwama mourns, its martyrs cry,
Under Kashmir's azure sky.
For everywhere, watchful eyes now stand,
Rifles glint in every hand.
In every step, their presence near,
Silent bunkers rise, mirroring fear.
Convoys rumble, curfews descend,
A peaceful past, yet to mend.
Oh, valley of roses, where beauty thrives,
Why must this conflict shadow your lives?
O Kashmir, your beauty remains,
A jewel that bears unyielding chains.
May the vigilant watch fade to peace,
And your paradise find its longed-for release.
My mind won’t let me say goodbye,
For Kashmir calls, and I can’t deny.
A piece of my heart, it keeps with grace,
Urging me to return to that sacred place.
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