Brothers once, beneath the same monsoon sky,
Before foreign flags touched your soil,
You drank from the same rivers,
Laughed beneath the same banyan trees,
Shared gods, grain, and ground.
But when the map was sliced by hands not yours,
When borders were inked in sorrow and salt,
A mother wept—her children pulled apart,
Not by will, but by wounds too deep to...
Continue reading...