By Watan Ko Jano
In the hush of hills where the cedars rise,
And meadows whisper to open skies,
A wound has pierced the tranquil air—
Terror struck where hearts laid bare.
The streams that once sang tales of peace
Now mourn with echoes that never cease.
Where laughter danced with mountain mist,
Now silence lingers, cold and crisp.
In Pahalgam’s arms, the innocent came,
To know her soul, to speak her name.
Tourists, wanderers—souls unarmed,
Embraced by beauty, by dreams charmed.
But hatred, cloaked in shadows deep,
Crept through the night while the world did sleep.
It shattered joy with fire and stone,
Left bodies broken, hearts alone.
Dr. Bilal Ahmad Bhat now stands—
A voice of truth, with trembling hands.
He lifts his pen, his heart, his cry,
Condemns this wrong beneath the sky.
“This act,” he speaks, “was vile, unjust,
A stain on earth, a breach of trust.
Terror has no creed, no cause,
That justifies such twisted laws.”
He kneels beside the bloodied ground,
Where once was laughter, now no sound.
With every tear, he shares their pain—
The mothers lost, the fathers slain.
“We stand,” he says, “with families torn,
By bullets fired at dreams unborn.
With every soul that grief now bears,
We offer prayers, and pledge our cares.”
The valley weeps with every pine,
As mourning wraps the tall skyline.
But out of grief, a vow must grow,
To shield the peace these hills bestow.
So let not fear define this land,
Let love and courage take our hand.
For in the face of hatred’s call,
Humanity must rise for all.
Let children run through fields once more,
Let songs of joy through mountains soar.
And let the world not turn its eyes—
From sorrow’s truth or widow’s cries.
Dr. Bilal, with soul so bold,
Has etched these truths in pages gold.
And Watan Ko Jano now shall write,
The light that shines in darkest night.
Let peace return, let justice reign,
Let healing fall like April rain.
And may we never once forget,
The price of peace, the weight of debt.
