In Baisaran’s lap where flowers bloom,
A shadow fell, a silent gloom.
From hills that sang in whispering breeze,
Rose cries that brought the world to knees.
Tourists came with hearts so light,
To touch the skies, to hold delight.
But hatred crept with guns and fire,
And turned their dreams into a pyre.
Twenty-six souls, their stories gone,
But in our hearts, they still live on.
Children’s laughter, lovers’ grace,
Now etched in tears upon this place.
No words can heal, no tears suffice,
Till justice claims its rightful price.
A firm reply, both sharp and just,
Is duty now — a sacred trust.
For grieving kin and wounded land,
A nation rises, strong and grand.
The nation wept, the people stood,
In pain, in pride, in brotherhood.
The guilty shall not walk away —
Justice wakes at break of day.
Let peace return where sorrow lay,
Let hope and healing find their way.
And may the valley’s voice remain,
A song of peace, not cries of pain.
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