Kashmir That Sang Poem by Mohammad Younus

Kashmir, that once sang,
cradled in the arms of mountains,
where forests whispered secrets to the sky,
and rivers spun silver threads of song,
life flowed—pure, unbroken, free.

The people, threads of a single tapestry,
wore brotherhood like the morning sun.
No fear, no borders—
only open hands, open hearts,
laughter spilling through the valleys.

They drank from crystal springs,
bathed in lakes that cradled the sun,
walked beneath trees
whose branches brushed eternity.
The land was a gift,
and they held it gently—
as one holds a fragile dream.

But time, like a slow-advancing shadow,
dimmed the light.
Greed, a drifting seed,
took root in restless hearts
and spread unseen.

Rivers dulled,
their voices choked by neglect.
Forests fell,
their ancient tongues silenced by steel.
The people, once bound by peace,
let suspicion fester,
let walls rise between them.

Neighbors turned strangers,
then rivals,
then enemies.
Harmony shattered,
its echoes drowned
beneath the clamor of division.

The land, weary and wounded,
bore the weight of their hands.
No songs rose from the rivers,
no whispers from the trees.
Yet beneath the soil,
a buried melody hums—
a promise, a plea—
for what could be once more.

—MyKoul