Mantras for the Displaced

Say “home”—
but never name
the village of your birth,
ancestors purged
from its silent orchards.

Say “once”—
but not that evening
you watched your house burn,
a carnival of flames
ravaging rice, Rilke,
ruby toe-rings
bought for your wedding.

Say “was”—
but not how it really was,
fleeing in female form,
soft curves a treachery
in trains and boats.

Say “joy”—
but not the aangan
where your first crush
traced your jawline
with a rose.

Say “death”—
but do not name
corpses you abandoned
on your way
to the promised land.

Say “never” “never” “never”
when you dream of return,
for India is free*, a new era
beckons—

You, sorceress,
exorcise geography,
rebuild your rubble.

～

*The tragedy of India’s gruesome partition arrived hand-in-hand with the victory of India’s freedom from colonisation in August 1947.

aangan: courtyard