On narrow roads many trampled dreams,
That attempted a walk in denied steps.

Our stride shall try and regain again,
On stolen paths to disheveled gardens.

Hands be held in silent marches,
Converging into human streams.

Each droplet will be an attempted ocean,
Each voice shall be a nation’s cry.

Let the silent murmur of a half widow,
Hear louder than any enforced calm

Where imported masks are sold as peace,
Stand up and be counted as tillers of this land.

Wake up and walk those garrisoned roads,
Those were snatched by the intruders’ raid.

Walk up and cry in a concerted speech,
To drowns their denial in an unfailing truth.


The march for ‘Haqeeqat e Kashmir’