Shades of green and of gray,
Shades of blue of the bay,
Shades of golden sun
Amidst the valley of the gun
Shades of purple and of pink,
Beneath the veils of Burkha
The soul gets sink..
With each uprising and each revolt
There’s an increase in the death toll.
The eyes just blink with
Each headline of the Newspaper
Delivered in the political corridors
To the household indoors across the nation.
They say Kashmir is God’s creation
People are trying to seek salvation
Not from the body but the terror which embodies
Of the police and personnel
Of artillery and arsenal
Of religion and rebel.
Shades of death and of Red
Shades of violence and loot
With each passing day
The ground turns into
The death bed of those
Who had weaven vibrant dreams
Of a peaceful Jammu and Kashmir.
Or those who once boasted of
Bright blissful sights
Of ripening apples and roaring winds
But now there’s just the rearing of opposite dreams.
Whatever the present may be
There’s always hope
Like that of Honey bee and the Butterfly
Who wanders in the jungle’s daylight sky.
There’s a hope that the fences will mend
No boundaries and no treaties with pen
Neither pillows of innocents getting wet in vain.
There’s a hope that there shall be a day
From which the India will sparkle and shine
With the light of the divine
When Orange, yellow, violet, Indigo
Will all meet and fade
Into the white light glare.