Where ever my gaze run sees death,
Butterflies mourning over a meadow
And many a tulip at their last breath,
The scent of saffron from the fields
Come and die at my wandering feet,
O' the most beautiful valley Kashmir
Where there the chinar trees greet,
What has happened to your soul?
Show me your true form—
And bless me whole.

The winds are going back to the sea
Whistling through the Himalayas,
And the lovely fall is no more lovely,
The lakes robed in brown leaves
And the brown boats still for long,
Makes me more dumb and dead
To the skylark's delicious song;
This heart weeps for everything
Every petal of this valley
And the flower that wants to sing.

In the moonlit sky of Gulmarg nights,
A child by the street is happy,
To his eyes are the blissful sights;
The scent of fresh Wazwan blooms,
At his little feet, cold and dry,
The stars are playful marbles to him
And a coin glimmering in the sky;
I can see him roaming the green lea
O' the land of seven apples,
If I see, the world of joy is in me