Wounds of Partition
Millions of Indian Muslim marched toward Pakistan,
And numerous Hindus, from Pakistan, reached Hindustan.
The lands they hated most had to become now their homelands,
With their bitter most enemies, they were forced to shake hands.
A little taunting from one was enough for the other,
To hit or kick or beat or bite or callously murder.
Many thousands were mercilessly killed in both the sides,
Atrocities on women tolled as though sea in high tides.
No inner healing could ever, in any way, take place,
Feelings of unhealed wounds ran within as though in full race;
In venom-filled words and actions their revenge fond vent,
Behind each other’s smiles, even today, vengeance seen blend.
06 March 2022
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