𝙏𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨,𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙣,
𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣,
𝙐𝙥𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙖 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙬,
𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙣,
𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙨𝙖𝙬,
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙮 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚;
𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙚,
𝘼𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙,
𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙥𝙤𝙤𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙙,
𝙏𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙙 𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙙𝙤 𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙,
𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙜𝙖𝙯𝙚𝙨 𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙙,
𝘼 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙬,
𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙗𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙬,
𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙭𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨,
𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙜𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙧,
𝘾𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙨,
𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙧!,
𝙏𝙝𝙪𝙨 𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚,
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙,
𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙪𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙜𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚,
𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙪𝙗𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙝𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙,
𝙒𝙝𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙,
𝘼𝙝𝙝 𝙢𝙚! 𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙚𝙩 𝙙𝙤 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚,
𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙄 𝙙𝙤 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙖𝙠𝙚.
(The author is a poet .The views, opinions and conclusions expressed in this article are those of the author and aren’t necessarily in accord with the views of “Kashmir Horizon”)
𝙢𝙪𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙧52@𝙜𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙡.𝙘𝙤𝙢
