A poet’s excruciating pains of his bleeding heart after April 22, 2025 Baisaran Meadow Terror Attack
In the Valley of Weeping Pines: ‘The Pahalgam Tragedy’ -by Priyatosh Das (Assam) BHARAT
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Beneath the Himalayan cradle,
Where nature’s beauty shines, where rivers carve their song,
A tragedy unfolded leaving hearts and minds decline.
Pahalgam lay in quiet grace, where dreams could do no wrong.
The meadows stretched in emerald hues, kissed by morning’s dew,
A paradise of whispered peace, where hearts and hopes anew.
Fathers hoisted children high, to glimpse the mountain’s crown,
Mothers smiled at simple joys, in nature’s soft renown.
The Baisaran Meadows, lush and green, a canvas of delight,
Held families in its tender arms, beneath the starlit night.
Lieutenant Vinay, eight days wed, with Himanshi by his side,
Dreamed of futures yet to bloom, their hearts with hope allied.
Shubham Dwivedi, newly bound, with wife in love’s embrace,
Sipped warmth from humble Maggi bowls, in this enchanted place.
Bitan Adhikary, techie soul, with child and wife so near,
Watched his toddler chase the breeze, untainted by all fear.
Shailesh Kalathiya, one day shy of candles and a cake,
Stood with family, breathing deep, for beauty’s fleeting sake.
From Karnataka’s Rao, who spoke of joy, to Gujarat’s gentle kin,
Each heart beat with the valley’s pulse, where sorrow held no kin.
The ponies trod their steady path, the air was crisp and sweet,
The pines stood tall, their shadows soft, where earth and heaven meet.
No hint of darkness marred the day, no cloud foretold the pain,
Till footsteps broke the sacred hush, and terror staked its claim.
From forest’s edge, in camouflage, the Specters crept with hate,
Their rifles gleamed with cold intent, to shatter heaven’s gate.
They asked for names, for faiths professed, a cruel and twisted rite,
And tore the veil of peace apart, beneath the fading light.
The shots rang out, a merciless hymn, that tore through flesh and bone,
The meadow drank the crimson flood, where laughter once had grown.
Vinay fell, his bride’s despair a scream that rent the sky,
Shubham’s wife, with trembling hands, watched love’s last breath pass by.
Bitan shielded his young son, but bullets knew no grace,
His body slumped; a father’s love etched on his lifeless face.
Shailesh crumpled, birthday dreams now dust upon the ground,
Twenty-six souls, from life’s embrace, in silence now were bound.
The children’s cries, like shattered glass, pierced through the valley’s core,
The mothers’ wails, a primal grief, would echo evermore
The pines, once proud, now bowed their heads, as if to share the shame,
That paradise could cradle death, and never be the same.
Oh, Pahalgam, valley fair, why must your rivers weep?
Your waters, once a lullaby, now cradle grief so deep.
The meadows, stained with innocence, bear witness to the cost,
Of hatred’s fire, of futures burned, of dreams forever lost.
The Resistance Front, with shadowed hearts, claimed this unholy deed,
Sowing seeds of fear and pain, where only love should breed.
They spared some lives with whispered words, a twisted show of creed,
But left a wound upon the soul, where Kashmir’s heart does bleed.
The nation mourns, its leaders vow, with justice as their aim,
our PM’s voice, a solemn oath, to quench this fire’s flame.
Yet promises, though fiercely made, cannot un-weave the thread,
Of families torn, of empty homes, where ghosts of joy now tread.
The world looks on, with heavy heart
Oh, widows of the valley, who face the endless night,
Your grief is ours, your tears are ours, we hold you in our care,
Though words are frail, we stand with you, in this unholy prayer.
What God could sanction such a deed, what faith could bear this stain?
No heaven waits for hands that wield such cruelty and pain.
The mountains watch in silent grief, their peaks with sorrow crowned,
For through tears that never dry,for twenty-six who came to dream, and never said goodbye.
In Pahalgam’s arms, they rest now, beneath the weeping pines,
Their stories etched in starlight, where the eternal river shines.
Oh, Kashmir, hold them gently, in your meadows and your streams,
And let their souls find peace at last, in heaven’s boundless dreams.
( Pic Credits Khalid Akhtar’s Book )