By Andleeb Khan
ISLAMABAD, Aug 20 (APP):: When 18-year-old Sham Bai steps onto a dusty makeshift stage in rural Sindh, holding a traditional tamburo and flanked by two fellow singers, it isn’t just music that fills the air, it’s a warning. Her clear, steady voice rises over the crowd, not with celebration, but with the sorrow of a vanishing world.
“We are the people of the south,” she sings in Sindhi. “The winds seem to be blowing from the north. The winds seem cold and warm. My heart is burned from seeing the collapsed houses in the rain. Oh, beloved, come home soon.” Speaking to APP, Sham Bai shared the pain and urgency behind her songs.
Through her voice, Sham does what few policy reports or scientific data sets can, turning the invisible pain of climate change into something people can feel. Raised in a flood-stricken village in Sindh, she has watched her community suffer rising waters, searing heatwaves, and displaced lives. Now, she carries those memories in song, traveling from village to village to raise awareness. She starts with upbeat folk tunes to gather a crowd, then shifts into ballads that tell stories of climate grief, forced migration, and loss.
Across Pakistan, folk musicians, poets, and artists are stepping in where public communication falls short, translating the abstract language of climate change into rooted cultural expression.
“Climate change is becoming more intense, especially in Pakistan,” environmental experts say. Shifting weather patterns, recurring floods, and frequent heatwaves are reshaping lives. But where technical jargon alienates, music, poetry, and storytelling build emotional bridges.
Urooj Fatima, an activist and rapper from Jhuddo who performs as Sindhi Chhokri, echoes this. Initially known for championing women’s rights, she turned to climate advocacy after devastating floods in her village in 2022 and 2024. Speaking to this scribe, she said, “Many people in rural areas don’t know what climate change is. Rap can help us reach more people. In a village gathering, we may get 50 people, but songs can reach hundreds of thousands.”
From Sindh to Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, the rhythm of climate awareness is spreading. In the north, Pashto folk singer Karan Khan is weaving urgent calls for reforestation and environmental protection into traditional tappas. Talking to this news agency, he said his lyrics urge every citizen to plant at least one tree and care for it like a child. It’s not just music, it’s a grassroots campaign.
Sindhi poet and journalist Nasir Aijaz adds another layer. Speaking to APP, he discussed his English-language poem Memoirs: The Story of Climate Change, which reflects on a past where monsoons arrived like clockwork, rivers ran deep, and seasons told familiar stories. Now, he writes, those memories are drowned beneath rising temperatures, droughts, and deforestation.
At Lahooti, a cultural space, musician and curator Saif Samejo explores how folk traditions express both grief and resistance. Talking to this scribe, he said, “Our song Bhora Marhun reflects the emotional weight carried by people who lose everything to both climate and man-made disasters.” Through Lahooti’s residencies and retreats at the Karoonjhar Commune, artists connect art, ecology, and memory. “We treat the Karoonjhar mountain as a living entity,” Saif added. “Our archive is not just history—it’s a mediation of grief, a testimony of resilience.”
But such work needs support. “Folk artists, unlike mainstream performers, have fewer safety nets,” Samejo noted. “They need funding, care, and training to carry these stories forward.” To him, artists like Sham Bai are part of a long lineage, from Mai Dhai to Bhittai, teaching how to live in harmony with the land. Their songs are now the emotional frontline of the climate crisis.
Recent tragedies have only deepened the urgency. In 2025, heavy rains, cloudbursts, and floods devastated northern regions like Buner, Swat, and Babusar, leaving behind grief and shattered communities. For those who lost everything, the language of policy falls flat. But songs and poems from these wounds offer a collective way to mourn, remember, and rebuild.
Social media platforms like TikTok and YouTube have become unlikely stages. Images of destruction, flooded streets, washed-away homes, weeping mothers, are now often paired with climate-themed poetry and melodies. The emotional resonance is undeniable, reaching far beyond village boundaries.
Waheed Ali Soomro, a resident of Sultan Kot in Shikarpur, believes this is where the true power of folk language lies. Speaking to APP, he said, “When we hear these messages in our own language, we understand it better. It connects with our daily lives, our feelings. That’s what makes people act.”
Indeed, storytelling, through voice, rhythm, or rhyme, has become a lifeline between scientific reality and human experience. These creative voices from Sindh, KP, and beyond are turning climate data into living memory, and memory into movement.
Where reports struggle to connect and headlines fade, the voices of singers like Sham Bai endure, carrying sorrow, resilience, and hope.