Walking under the quite Chinar trees,
Suddenly a leaf of it hit my forehead,
As I grabbed it in my hands, let's my mind freeze,
I remembered that day when I was going to bed.

The time felt so familiar,
I was a little kid,
Playing with kids all so similar,
The weather was peaceful.

Next day the riots break,
People shooting others like a freak,
The war was not among angel and demons,
It was among religions.
This led to our families heartbreak,
And we left Kashmir,
As in our mind was a crack.

I bought a young Chinar plant,
But was too young to understand,
That the plants need a perfect weather to implant.
Those small little leaves withered,
And all I did was shattered.

The only desire I'm my young mind
Was to have my own house.
With a yellow Chinar in my home
In winters, and myself sitting
Inside that tree in blanket
Like a mouse.

Shall I tell Spring?
That you have clutched a pair of flowers
Withered in your hands
They resemble us...

Shall I tell summer?
That your lips and eyes have parched
By the vehement love
So long ago.

Shall I tell autumn?
That your heart has grown crispier
More tender than Chinar leaves
Trampled by me.

Shall I tell winter?
Your ***** is so frozen
No longer which, yearns for warmth
So fragile to split.
~
Her Orchards of Despair
-Mirza Sharafat Hussain

Pine, Spruce, Deodar and Chinar drape the foothills of the mountains freshly blanketed in white. Their peaks proudly rise high, making a journey towards the heaven. Nowhere else in the world could the mountains be seen so close to the sky.

Grassy lawns run around a vast expanse, enveloping the entire landscape in green. Tourists and school going children alike, walk past it merrily.

Delight dances in her eyes, which is evident by the glint of sunlight on her countenance and the wide smile that adorns her beautiful face. Few strands of her dark black hair let themselves loose, swaying impishly with the cool breeze while their ends begin to turn white.

Awestruck as she is at the vista in front of her eyes, trying to capture the flitting moment, she is transfixed by the soft white pieces of frozen water that whirl around in the air before falling down to the earth. She holds out her hand to the sky and a few flakes, carried as a blessing by a balmy cool breeze from the welkin high, settle down gently onto the soft hand that until now knew not of its touch. It feels cold and smooth, almost tender like a feather, melting at her tepid contact. She is more than pleased to have discovered snow for the first time in her life.

In a long tussle with destiny
I believed in prayers
I was asked to keep patience
For an inconsolable period
Till Chinar Leaves would burn
Till warm rivulets would freeze
After season long battle
Divine promise was declined
That very moment
I was married to Grief

Now I can breath in the valley air,
Sans the fear and despair,
Though I have never been to
the scrumptious valley fair.

Stories of the turmoils,
Bloodshed and the toils,
Now I can see the sun
rising from horizon of scare.

Lofty and lushly I hear,
Chinar trees sear,
Blood red, mauve, yellow leaves,
allegorical, the bruise heal.

Insurgence has met its expiration,
Reverent, stands the nation,
And now after the tremulous affair
Let's breath in the valley air.

Bostful, the national pride,
Paradoxical waft shall end,
And as a nation, we stand,
To breath in the valley air.

Where did you go?
I searched for your shadow in the Koshur valley,
Dug deeper in those cloudy glaciers
Fished in the trench of cold Jhelum
Where did you swim off?
I ran atop the Chinar,
To smell your fragrance in those dry leaves
Where did you disappear?
In my flowing Pheran,
Running across the streets of Downtown,
Shouting, calling to your soul,
Where did you freeze?
Read tirelessly namaaz in His Holy abode,
To see your image in those prayers,
Where did you immerse?
Where did you go?

Same moon, I
will not witness the bloodshed
during the starless sky.

When it is pitch dark
you open the hidden myths of
hanging China rose.

A world dies under
the Chinar tree to save a
rising crimson sun.