Seven Words Poem by Mystic Qalandar

It was the fall of night
on Dal Lake,
1961.

A boat carrying
passengers,
from Shalimar Bagh
towards Hazratbal.

My youngest brother,
Jan Mohammad Koul,
was with his father,

returning from a picnic
at Shalimar Bagh—

and then,

while crossing Dal Lake
towards Hazratbal,
a heavy storm rose.

The passenger boat
capsized.

The lake swallowed
the boat;

the darkness swallowed
the lake—

somewhere
between Shalimar
and Hazratbal,
near Sonalāñk.

Childhood
lost its innocence.

Jan Mohammad Koul
did not return.

His father
did not return either.

Luckily, I was home—

waiting in a silence
I could not name.

Years passed.

The lake remained.

Its waters still reflected
the mountains,
the sky,
the evening light—

but for me,
Dal Lake was never
only a lake again.

Sometimes,
when the waters grow still,

I hear something
beneath their silence—

not a cry,
not a voice,

but seven words:

We are martyrs, alive.

We remember you.

—MyKoul