Darjeeling's Unheard Prayer

The morning mist hugs every hill, the cool wind feels so free,

The tea gardens shine in sunlight, as beautiful as can be.

The mountains stand so proud and tall beneath the open sky,

Yet many hearts are filled with pain that words can never hide.

Tourists come and fall in love with every road and view,

But only those who live here know what the people go through.

Every election leaders come with promises so sweet,

They shake our hands, they raise our hopes, then quietly retreat.

They speak of change, of jobs and roads, of better days ahead,

But after all the voting ends, those promises lie dead.

Year after year the story stays exactly just the same,

Only the faces change with time, the struggle still remains.

Our children leave these lovely hills to chase a better life,

Some go to crowded cities, some leave their homes behind.

Some travel far to Israel to care for someone old,

Just to earn enough each month while hiding tears untold.

They leave their mothers and fathers waiting by the door,

Praying one day their children will come back home once more.

We don't have enough good colleges where dreams can proudly grow.

Many students leave the hills because they have to go.

We don't have enough good hospitals when life hangs by a thread.

An ambulance starts racing down with fear and tears instead.

To Siliguri, Kolkata, Bengaluru—we run to save a life,

Hoping that the journey ends before we lose the fight.

Our roads still break, our young still leave, our villages grow still,

Many homes are left with only old parents on the hill.

The shops close early, dreams grow small, and hope becomes so thin,

Yet every morning people smile and quietly begin.

They work so hard, they ask so little, they only want a chance,

To build a future in these hills instead of one last glance.

Oh, beautiful Darjeeling, how much longer will you wait?

When will real development finally reach your gate?

We don't ask for riches, only schools, hospitals, and jobs.

A future where our children stay instead of saying goodbye.

Let promises become real work, let every voice be heard.

Let actions speak much louder than another hopeful word.

For these hills deserve much more than speeches in the rain.

They deserve a brighter tomorrow, where no dream ends in pain.

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