Beneath the mountains, silent and austere,
Where whispers ride on winds too faint to hear,
A couple sat, where laughter once had bloomed,
Now etched in ash, a field of joy entombed.
His head lay soft upon her quiet knees,
The dusk curled round them like a solemn breeze,
No words between them passed; none had to fall—
Grief spoke in silence, louder than them all.
The skies still blushed with colors of the day,
As if the sun knew not of death’s cruel play.
Around them, plastic chairs and bags lay bare,
Mute monuments to moments robbed by fear.
O Kashmir! Land of poetry and pine,
Your valleys echo sweeter songs than mine.
But in your folds where beauty flows like streams,
The blood of innocents now taints your dreams.
Tourists came for snow, for tales, for grace—
Not knowing they would leave without a face.
Not knowing that the price for peace is pain,
That some who seek it never rise again.
Who pulled the trigger, hid behind the mask?
Whose hate made war of such a simple task?
What sickness must a soul endure to kill,
A stranger, resting quietly on a hill?
And she—who mourns with arms too weak to shake,
Whose heart has shattered but refused to break—
She sits in still defiance of despair,
A monument of mourning in the air.
Did she recall their morning, hand in hand?
Did laughter echo softly through the sand?
Did she believe, as many often do,
That evil would not come when skies were blue?
Now cameras pass, and headlines write their fate,
In hashtags, in condemnations too late.
But justice, like the snow, is slow to fall—
And melts too fast to cleanse the stains of all.
The world resumes its march, eyes glazed with sleep,
As mothers stitch the names of sons they weep.
While diplomats debate behind closed doors,
The earth drinks tears it never asked for more.
But in this frame, this still and haunted frame,
Is carved a truth too brutal to reclaim:
That “normalcy” is but a gilded lie,
When peace is sold, and people still must die.
So let the voice of Palestine arise,
From Gaza’s ruins to the Kashmir skies—
A cry for those whose only crime was breath,
Now bound in silence, casualties of death.
Let not this photo fade into the stream
Of scrolls and shares and temporary screams.
Let it remain—a scar, a prayer, a plea,
To end the lie, and set the people free.
