In Pahalgam’s hush, a promise lies,
Of rising suns and endless skies.
Though shadows fall and tears may stream,
The soul still dares to dream its dream.
Scarred but sacred, this land stands tall,
Wrapped in the tricolor, embracing all.
We rise not just to heal, but to defend,
With hope as our shield, and justice our stand.
Simi
I am Pahalgam,
Cradled by mountains, carved by rivers,
a hymn of hush, a cradle of peace.
But today, I weep.
What should have bloomed,
a festival of footsteps,
laughter spilled like sunlight on pine,
was shattered by shadows,
by hands heavy with hate.
They were not merely taken,
they were chosen
By a blindness that fears faith,
by a cruelty that marks belief as a wound.
Now, my meadows hold their breath.
The trails sleep beneath dust.
The breeze, once laced with whispers of joy,
carries only the mourning of the land.
This is no passing sorrow.
It is a scar,
etched deep into my valleys,
aching, unhealed, unforgettable.
Simi
Simi says... 