The tale of divided sisters

Maybe in another universe,
We’d just see your smile
not the label, not the line
that someone drew between us
with the ink made of blood and pride.

We might speak in different accents,
but we laugh the same.
We eat from different plates,
but our mothers scold us the same way.
How can we be so alike,
yet told we’re enemies by birth?

They fed us stories
not fairy tales, but fables of fear.
Told us God wanted walls,
that the names and prayers
made some more worthy than others.

Today it’s religion.
Tomorrow it’ll be love,
the clothes we wear,
the hands we hold.
It never ends, does it?

They drew a line
before we could walk
India, Pakistan
two sisters pulled apart
before they even knew
how to say goodbye.

One left, clutching memories like broken glass.
One stayed, burying them beneath silence and ash.
Those who fled had to build from the dust of loss.
Those who remained had to forget what it cost.

Both lost something
no war could win,
no treaty could ever return.

And yet
maybe in another universe,
you’d be just my neighbour.
We’d borrow sugar.
We’d share festivals.
We’d remember the taste of childhood
before the world told us
who we’re supposed to hate.