(A Plea to India & Pakistan Stop War) By Dr. Bilal Ahmad Bhat for Thynk Unlimited
O nations of the same motherland’s cry,
Why must you summon storms from the sky?
Why must you bury your youth in clay,
When there’s still time to turn the blade away?
We were once one river, one rain, one song,
Now we speak of vengeance where we should right the wrong.
Who profits from fire, from steel and smoke,
When it’s the poorest back that bends and breaks the yoke?
A child in Srinagar holds his breath—
A girl in Lahore speaks of death.
They do not know the politics of pride,
But they know the sound when peace has died.
You fight not for glory, not for grace,
But for lines that time will one day erase.
Maps may change, but grief is true,
And mothers mourn in both red and blue.
In the echo of tanks, in the silence of graves,
There are dreams that nobody saves.
What flag can you plant on a mound of despair?
What anthem redeems a smoke-choked air?
O Delhi, O Islamabad, hear this cry—
Of fathers who beg their sons not to die.
Of sisters who stitch hope into rags,
While outside the world raises warlike flags.
You build your arsenals, you flex your might,
But do you sleep well in the hollow night?
For every missile that you send,
You kill not an enemy—only a friend.
Stop this feud of dust and flame,
For beneath it all, we are the same.
The soil does not ask which side you are on,
It drinks the blood, then weeps till dawn.
Let us not raise monuments to hate,
Or teach our children that war is fate.
Instead, plant trees where bombs once fell,
Let peace be the story they live to tell.
Imagine a border where trade is trust,
Not a trench filled with bones and dust.
Where voices cross freely, not through tears,
Where unity silences the drum of fears.
Let the songs of saints return again,
Let dargahs and temples ring with the same refrain.
Let Amritsar and Lahore break bread,
And not count coffins or tally the dead.
War is not brave, nor noble, nor wise—
It is the failure of those who lead with lies.
True courage is not in firing a gun,
But in holding a hand and saying, “We are one.”
So dear India, dear Pakistan—
Let not another war be drawn.
Let the wind carry words, not ash,
Let us stitch our wounds, not make them gash.
Let poets replace politicians for a day,
And lovers show soldiers a better way.
Let hearts, not headlines, lead the news,
Let peace, not pain, be the path we choose.
For no border should bleed forevermore.
The future knocks—please, open the door.
