A thread of gold, a drop of fire,
Born of labor, built of desire.
In fields that sing of mountain streams,
Saffron grows within our dreams.
Under skies both clear and gray,
Our forebears toiled in dawn’s soft ray.
Each petal plucked with reverent care,
A labor steeped in hope and prayer.
In each small jar, a century rests,
In each crimson strand, our heart invests.
Stored in shades of ancient grace,
A piece of earth, a time, a place.
Kong Posh holds the flavor deep,
Where legacies and saffron sleep.
A family’s honor, finely spun,
Bound by threads of the Kashmiri sun.
On every table, every meal,
The spice of life, our family seal.
Its warmth, a touch of sacred fire,
An heirloom shared, a taste entire.
From humble soil to table fine,
Saffron brightens, saffron shines.
With each rich thread, tradition pure,
Our love, our pride, forever sure.
Seven generations strong and true,
Passed down in every crimson hue.
With KongPosh saffron, one can taste
The legacy we will not waste.
For in each golden drop we find
A heritage that binds and binds.
The taste of truth, both bold and sweet,
In every dish, tradition meets.