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#Partition 1947

We don’t need the colors

Rioting within our skins

Merging with the salt

Of our palms and dried tears

Shrieking against our breath

And yet we find ourselves

Drenched in thirsty colors

Of faith

We don’t need your gods

Protected in the sanctum

With doors of gold

While edges of our dupattas

Lie soaked with blood

Stuck on broken bricks

Of savaged streets

We don’t need your words

Dripping with rootlessness

And myriad dreams

Of a home,

That doesn’t exist, hiraeth

Vestiges of an estranged land

Mingled with

Unheard stories of Thoha Khalsa

We don’t need your weapons

Swords, guns and blunt agony

That you would need for a war

We have gathered leaves of a poison tree

Hidden under the mattresses

Should you come barging in

To encroach our bodies

We have hidden a well

Deep under the garden soil

The dark waters,

making diamond shaped ripples

Just so, us

Women forsaken by gods,

can cut ourselves

And bleed, choking on our own tears

Before your rapacious tongues

Can defile our soil

A score of us

Against a million of you

You said you have divided the earth

And so the women are looted

As per the side of gods they are with

Yet, no gods I find

In your zombie eyes

Only a furore, unblinking

all soaked with crimson

And a truck full of women

Dragged to alien earth

Orphaned, taken

Without consent

You talk about gods

Laminated in silver sheets

I ask you, ye faithful

You draw your weapons

And howl name of Gods that be

Tell me,

Who are the women with ?

-Rianka Bose Saha

***For this piece, I have to thank Shivani Salil. I have developed this insatiable thirst for the stories of Partition. Thank you for inspiring my words.

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10 Comments

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  1. Wow! What emotions you brought out. Partition has always been my favourite topic to read and discuss about. My grandparents have survived through that and I’ve always been heartbroken and fascinated at the same time, to know the stories of Then.
    This is a lovely poem written with a lot of courage!

  2. Gut wrenching and soul wringing. Partition always fascinated me. Interestingly my grandfather moved to Assam from Dhaka in undivided British India but we have still been regarded as refugees!

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Written by Rianka Bose Saha

Started scribbling when I was in my teens, and since then its an integral part of my being. Writing is cathartic for me as I deeply feel that there are many words that are left unspoken, uncared for. Eventually they wither away rootless. I try to gather these words and pour my soul in them. I feel words are magical and healing. I Am glad that I finally found a forever home for my words. So happy to be here !

PP Pioneer

Love….a madness

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