Dearest Kashmir

By Iflah Batool

Mother told tales, called you a fairytale she breathed

“Wait till you feel her robbing you of breaths”.

Mother said ever and again dread could be winsome

Easy on the eye when beheld with love.

Mother raised me like a tulip, as for her you’re spring

Quenched with your elixir vitae, the Jhelum water.

Mother took me on walks, crinkling leaves of Chinars

Fire and chill of autumn, the frost and charm of winter.

Mother didn’t hide your pain, nor the Himalayan summer

Your beauty, though bizarre, my senses do sunder.

By Iflah Batool