Gilgit-Baltistan, My Second Home Poem by Aadil Hingorjo

I wish
I wish I could translate your vision
I wanted to kiss your land
The land from where Sindhu begins its flow
Sindhu; our belief, our life, our philosophy
Skardu sings to my Indusland
And the mighty shores of Karachi get saddened
Cry the crystal tears my land
Thy sad streets, thy unnamed stores
I wish I could sit for a while

The peaks of Nanga Parbat paint autumns
Tagless, unidentified, and nameless
Yet the flutes go on ringing
Nayab writes her news and fairy land sighs, he says
Aakash comes to record the history
And parched lips await
A long journey on the paths to liberty
And the sunken are rational souls
Springs are but autumns
Beauty around yet killing wrinkles are visible
Her whole face is dried
What happens? What's the fact?
Silk-Road or another capitalist chain!
Asks a child nearby Deosai - دیوسائی
Your eyes sparkle, Folks dance
But what of undying darkness!
Neither on that side nor on this line
Why not liberty then?
Liberty! ! ! : Thee art ecstasy and thee elation
Moen Jo Daro contemplates over thy fragrance
Your scent wouldn't be suppressed much
Your players will win
Your readers will redeem
Boom high and worry not
Triumph belongs to the truth

Every inch of thy land is a true word
And truth smiles thru thy lips
Your sorrows hidden
Can't cameras display your rashes?
Saddened and deeply dejected I'm!
I wish I could accompany thy hills
For you are my soul's solace
And you're my melodious symphony
Thy sons scream, thy daughters design
No corner of Gilgit-Baltistan will remain darkened

In my poems and in my prose
In my mind and in my heart
And into the flow of burning blood
I feel your pleas from Chilas to Diamer

I sense your protests…
In the harbor of Sindh, your purity runs
Teach me your lyrics
Tell me your stories
Tell me openly
Speak to me overtly
For in me dances the Sea
For in me flow your sensations
I wish I could follow your shadows
For under your skies, I've learnt to sing
Into the gardens of beauty, Thee art matchless
But still on the verge of death
But still your stanzas are confined
I wish I could revisit thy mountains
Though I've hugged thy sons
And I'm sure you'll smile to the pulses
And your ranges will drive a many men crazy
I, the Indusian disciple, drink your sips
Snowy songs meet my heart
Struggles keep on breathing
Not the swords will cut more; Victoy will work
Not only to wish, but I'll surely kiss thy Heights oneday....
Sindhu immortalizes us and thee historicize the lively chapter!