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English Chronicles 2025 26printed 41 · PDF 51
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AC Chronicles
The Ravi’s Lament
I once was a river, a bearer of dreams,
A lifeline of whispers, a thread through the streams.
From glaciers I surged, through valleys I danced,
A cradle of life, a timeless expanse.
The Mughals revered me, their jewel, their muse,
Adorned by their gardens, their poetry’s hues.
I carried their tales on my shimmering crest,
Through battles and empires, I never did rest.
But now I am fading, my song grows dim,
My banks are eroding, my future is grim.
Factories bleed poison; my waters run thin,
The life once within me is wearing so thin.
The children still gather, though quieter they play,
Their dreams of tomorrow feel further away.
The farmers who thrived on my nourishing gift,
Now gaze at dry fields as their hopes slowly drift.
Oh, people of Lahore, can you not see,
The life I once offered was never just free?
To save me, to heal me, is to honor your land,
To grasp the last thread of my weakening strand.
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