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Kashmir; a devastated paradise

Lemme paint a picture of the paradise you know, To the corpse, where tormented father’s still bow. Wrinkly mother with loads of pangs, Yet busy searching her son in his gangs. Yearning even for an ephemeral sunrise, Vale has turned into the port of cries. Long back, so called humanity has been diced, Eternal quiver to my lips is what it has priced. Even anhydrous tears still roll sister’s cheeks, Who are longing the love of their caring freaks. No longer it has those epochs of peace now, Mind it, don’t dare to ask me again how.