Lush green meadows, rolling hills
blanketed in thick grass,
towering pine trees all around, majestic snow-capped Himalayas as backdrop.
The contrast of green against the snowy peaks is surreal. In spring and summer,
the valley comes alive.But the dream
Is now suddenly dead
Now the colour of meadow is red.
As the spring turns to more summer
I can't go out on the street anymore
The mood of the people is dark , gloomy
There is no one to meet and share my grief.
I used to hope, I used to run with children
Towards the chinar shade beneath the sun.
There I rest now,no longer chase horse race
The memory of that hidden place
Spills blood of innocent tourists.
And if I go near Baisaran, let it be slow—
A breath, a sigh, a letting go.
I try to find my way through the pine ways
But I can’t move my feet.
What is this terrorist world we live in?
Only mourning and sorrow is left
I want to take refuge dear Kashmir
In the sadness of your heart. Amen.
Boudhayan Mukherjee , a bilingual poet has been widely published in journals and newspapers in India & abroad.He has authored nine books of poetry, translations and fiction. Taught Creative Writing in English at Indira Gandhi Open University & nominated for America's Pushcart Prize,2023 for poetry.
