Do you know?

Many months ago,

When it was still summer,

Sun high and mighty,

Flowers in full bloom,

The foliage over the hills,

Waters fresh in rivulets,

Birds still chirping free,

Someone in the terror,

Desirous with vitriol,

Caged the birds,

Scorched the fields,

Trying to shadow the Sun.

Little do they know,

Autumn has to come,

The golden leaves of Chinar,

Falling with all the freedom,

Flying higher than birds,

Coloring the vale red.

Winter may be harsher,

Rivers dried up,

And grass burn to the bone,

Nothing is to remain,

But the spring will come,

Snow shall melt,

Bulbul will sing,

The songs,

Of freedom and joy.

One day, someday.