India Pakistan Bangladesh Poem by Hardik Vaidya

My blood is not your blood,
We are tied to the same umbilical stud.
I am cast differently, your cast is out of caste,
The die though is made from the same foundry of our fathers heart.
We share the same mother, but mine is prettier.
We share the same sister but yours is uglier.
I carry the cross for no fault of my thought,
You lived the cross through yore for a thought that was not yours.
We have one more brother, he too shares the same mother,
We fight with each other, and we fight and we shout,
Mommy's dead and her body needs a shroud.
None of us listened to her, now don't shed tears bury her.
Ugly, pretty, is no longer an issue,
dear mothers dead, she is now a tear absorbed in a tissue.
There's no one to now call us indu, minku or pinku.