Blew the wind- a dirty witch
Bringing the thoughts of her son
Struggling in Kargil valleys.
Smiled he moon at her-
But it was the smile off death.
Sang the birds in the woods
It was the cry of her son.
Heavily poured the rain-
It was her son’s blood.
She heard a shattered lullaby-
From the wind, the stars, the rain.
She saw the face of her son
Smeared with blood, badly hurt.
Stop the war, save my son.
The mother in her cried wept.
The stroking wind heard her;
The smiling moon heard her;
The singing birds her;
The shivering stars heard her;
Still, the gunshots roared-
The gunshots roared in
The Valleys of Kargil.
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