I read about the Partition. our history is drenched in blood, our past etched into our flesh. and then we wonder why our wounds fail to heal. our bodies carry the within them only the memory of pain and the distant stench of a rotten bloody past that we will never escape. The fact of murder and rape and homelessness. The ground beneath our feet exploding into unimaginable choas. disembodied limps tossed everywhere. The bawl of children.

our children. their children.