When the Wind Remembers

Before the peaks

first learned to rise,

Before the dawn unveiled the skies,

The wind was born from ancient stone To

carry truth where silence lies.

It wandered through the newborn world,

A silver thread in darkness curled

— And whispered: All who walk these heights Are

children of the mountain-world.

Voices of the valley paths,

Where do your spirits soar?

We soar where elders breathed before,

We rise where sky and ridges roar,

हामी यहाँ छौं — the wind recalls our lore,

And binds our hearts forevermore.

Across the ridges, cold and steep,

The wind keeps watch while mountains sleep.

It knows the names the waters took,

It knows the vows the stones still keep,

It gathers every whispered grief And folds it into currents deep.

Hold strong. Hold strong.

Hold strong.

The wind replies with thunder’s grace,

A pulse that time cannot erase,

Until sorrow becomes a single flame

That lights the world from place to place.

Who stands when storms return again?

We stand through fire,

we stand through rain,

We stand where rivers carve the plain,

हामी उठ्छौं — through loss and pain,

We rise again, we rise again.

From broken paths we gather near,

From shattered homes we rise sincere.

The wind wraps round our woven hands,

And carries every whispered tear.

For grief is but a passing cloud,

And we are carved from spirits proud — The wind remembers who

we are, And sings our names aloud.

Nepal, keeper of the sky-born flame,

What do you carry in your name?

We carry ages carved in air,

We carry strength beyond despair,

We carry fire that mountains bear,

We rise, हामी उठ्छौं,

we rise everywhere. Long have we lived where high winds roam,

And long shall we remain their home.

For worlds may shift,

and rivers stray, Even the sky may lose its dome — But

the wind remembers all we’ve been,

And all we are,

and all we’ll win.

Through every storm, through every loss,

The wind still sings.

The wind still calls.