Danish Ashraf Khan
When Kashmir’s valleys found their voice,
They shared their grief—they had no choice.
On stones so still, their stories stayed,
Of all the storms we faced, betrayed.
Beneath the snow, our pain was deep,
In every flake, a tale would weep.
They burned our dreams to ash and dust,
But still we chose to love, not fuss.
Our wounds were wide, they never healed,
But still, no guiltless life we sealed.
They called us names, they gave us shame,
Yet still we played no hateful game.
In Pahalgam, the silence cried,
And pain lived deep where hope once died.
We held our tears, we bore the strain,
With quiet hearts and silent pain.
We stood with truth, with strength, with grace,
But hurt the most by our own face.
Now every step feels lost, unsure,
Each gaze is heavy, hard to cure.
Why did our own forget what’s right,
And steal our dreams, our peaceful night?
We won’t give in, we will not fall—
We live for truth, we’ve given all.
Kashmir is pure, its soul is kind,
Don’t link it with a hateful mind.
Though we have scars from days gone past,
We still believe that peace will last.
Don’t darken Kashmir’s gentle name,
Don’t set our tears alight with blame.
We only asked for calm, for peace—
So let this blame and battle cease.
