The tall chinar trees stand still in solemn silence,

As the leaves tremble in the aftermath of resounding gunshots,

The distant snow capped mountains mourn in a foetal hush,

Lackluster seem the pristine meadows lush,

The azure sky is now tinged in streaks of carmine,

And the songsters’ dirges reverberate in haunting loops,

Myriad Tulips hang their heads in shame–their bright hues sadly seem a pain and an eyesore,

Tears and bloodbath continue to seep in the cracking yawns of the shaken ground.

What seemed like a paradise transforms into ruthless hell,

The nation beholds the muted bodies helplessly,

What was once called home seems far from a haven,

With every identity merely diminished to the verses that could be chanted,

Motherland weeps as breaths were savagely silenced,

The borderless skies repeatedly condemn the heinous acts of those insane,

Does every heart beat in ways different ?

Isn’t every human’s blood red?

Is the pain and loss any less?

Is there a guarantee that the monsters won’t strike again?

Where is home? What is humanity?

***