Sunday , 22 April 2018
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(By Muhammad Ulfat Anjan)

The traveller entered the vale,
With a smiling face,
To meet some joyful tale,
In the blissful place.

What there met his eye,
Left him broken and sad;
The sorrowful, sullen sky,
Drove him restless and mad.

A storm had struck the vale,
Everything had been ruined;
There was a different tale,
That all the colours drained.

The flower beds trampled,
Crushed the butterflies and bees;
The cuckoos too had been killed,
Rabbits hanging from trees.

The bulbul dead in her nest,
The koel diseased and sick;
The Kastoor being eaten by the pest,
Along with his only chick.

Blood dripping from the trees,
The ground dressed in red;
The wounded lamb on his kness,
Surrounded by relatives dead–

In the unfortunate land,
He met a half- dead deer;
Who held the travellers hand
And whispered into his ear:

‘It’s no more heaven here,
Wolves rule this land;
Everywhere there is fear,
They cut every opposing hand.

They’ve let lose a reign of terror,
The subjects are being oppressed;
The epitomes of violence and horror,
In the guardians’ clothes dressed.

The denizens of this vale,
Protested and were killed;
Leaving behind woeful tale,
With bloodshed and horror filled.’

With these words he died,
And gave to the traveller his plot;
The traveller his horse did ride,
And left with a heavy heart.

(The Poet hailing from Kulgam is a teacher and can be reached at