On the Partition

One single land it was, and had always been,

A woman raped by many a monster, seen and unseen,

A home invaded and plundered by thieves many,

And yet, she welcomed all, sheltering friend and enemy,

Embraced them as her own progeny,

A land, rich in resource, culture and tranquillity,

Each creed blending into her, joining the countless others,

Eventually becoming loving, tolerant brothers.

She bore the anguish, yet remained fertile,

But now I wonder if it was all futile,

For the last clan who came,

Was human only by name,

A new clique, the first of its kind,

That did not see India as its own land,

Merely an asset, a farm at the most,

To cultivate money, resource and labour at low cost,

They didn't rule India, they enslaved her every subject,

Heartless men who conquered, brainwashed and burnt,

Claiming to help us, the backstabbing tyrants,

Plundered our riches, with no shame or guilt,

They governed us pitilessly, watching our people bleed,

Drinking or blood like parasites or weeds,

And even when the time came for them to leave,

Sans remorse, they pulled more tricks from their sleeve,

Their filthy rage made them plan another blow,

Never had one ever sunk so low,

Modifying their old trick of divide and rule,

They chose to employ the method of divide and leave,

Who were these men, wretched souls,

To decide the fate of a land from which they merely stole?

Containing its progress, to earn bloodstained bread,

Milking its udders until they bled,

And now they picked authority's knife,

Slicing India into two, twice,

Leaving behind three pieces that chose to fight,

A treacherous motive in plain sight,

Yet the world listened and so did we agree to split our soil,

We answered to wealthy men, whose richness came from our toil,

Venting our rage at brothers till till that day,

Thinking not twice, before raising swords to slay,

Smearing the two nations in a bloody bath,

Murdering civilians for hatred that existed not,

No pain, no slavery taught us that which was plain,

That by fighting ourselves, nothing did we gain,

One land became two, which later became three,

We call it independence but till today we aren't free,

The wounds are yet to heal, it still doesn't feel right,

To see that two people with a common past, are at each other's throat.

*Conceived and written on 30th May, 2016 at 6:26pm at B001, H13, IIT Bombay