It hurts when they acknowledge not
the pain and anguish, the distraught
that came to us with the partition
of the nation for which our elders fought.
It hurts when they live in pretence
that they know not our elders sufferance
we the original refugees in observance
stateless migrants on the continent.
It hurts when their festivals are observed
holidays marked in commemoration
We Sindhis but without our own state
holidayless display our lonely heritage.
It hurts when each language features big
My language struggles with painful swig
Despite the trauma of landlessness
Sindhi individuals dared to grow big.
It hurts when they speak of the plight
of Sindhis who till date know no delight
Living in suburbs of Mumbai and kutch
some still unable to forget the political grudge.
It hurts when we hear the tales of the days
when grandparents had to devise new ways
to eke a living in an alien land immigrant
having left behind the earnings and their land.
It hurts to learn what our elders underwent
tortures, abuse, rapes and burning incidents
being forced to convert or leave their homes
the Hindu Sindhis have hearts of martyrdoms.
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