The Ballad Of Kashmir's Sorrow Poem by Mohammad Younus

O gentle breeze, if you pass Geneva's hall,
Carry my words—let them echo, let them call.
Whisper to the winds that sweep the skies,
Of a land where hope now silently dies.
Tell the world of a valley once so fair,
Now bound in grief, its dreams laid bare.

The meadows green, where wildflowers bloomed,
The rivers wide, where moonlight loomed—
All were bartered, a kingdom betrayed,
For silver and gold, its freedom weighed.
In Amritsar's halls, the bargain was made,
A nation was sold, its fate mislaid.
Seventy-five lakh—the price they named,
For Kashmir's soul, forever maimed.

The mountains wept, their peaks turned gray,
The valleys mourned as night replaced day.
The snow-clad hills, once pure and bright,
Now bear the scars of a ceaseless fight.
Gulab Singh's rule, a shadow cast,
A reign of sorrow, a bitter past.
The chains of tyranny cruelly formed,
And in their grip, a land was stormed.

O League of Nations, where was your voice?
Did you not hear, did you not rejoice?
In halls of power, did none take heed,
Of Kashmir's cries, its silent bleed?
The world stood silent, its conscience asleep,
While Kashmir's children were left to weep.
The farmer's toil, the worker's pain,
The weight of loss, the freedom slain—
All drowned in silence, ignored, unheard,
While empires thrived on broken word.

Iqbal's words, a fiery plea,
A call for justice, fierce and free:
'A nation was sold, and cheaply too! '
His verses burn, his warning true.
He saw the chains, he felt the sting,
He heard the cries of a suffering spring.
Yet still he dreamed of a brighter morn,
When freedom's light would be reborn.

The farmer's sweat, the worker's hands,
The weight of loss, the shackled lands—
Yet still they rise, their hope remains,
For dawn will break on unchained plains.
The rivers will sing, the mountains will roar,
And tyranny's chains will break once more.
The gardens will bloom, the skies will clear,
And freedom's song will ring sincere.

O world, awaken, heed this tale,
Of sorrow deep, of voices pale.
Let justice rise, let truth prevail,
For Kashmir's cries must not grow stale.
Let not the echoes of their pain,
Be lost in silence, in vain, in vain.
For every tear, for every sigh,
Let justice reign from earth to sky.

—MyKoul