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Äŧül Aug 27
They exploited our traditions,
Divided us on caste lines,
We never wanted those renditions,
They did the dreadful partitions.

The second one was on the map,
Immediate bloodshed had hap,
People woke up from a nap,
They woke up to a gap.

The repercussions’re not eternal,
Time healed the physical wounds,
They somehow got over with it,
Yeah, we moved on over it.

We can’t forget how Sindh was ours,
How the entire Kashmir was ours,
But that was before they came,
Pouring down the mountains like an evil scourge.
My HP Poem #1764
©Atul Kaushal
Emily Aug 2018
Gray blur in my periphery
Imagination or something real?
Mystery solved within the hour
2nd gray form traveling far

Home no longer sacrosanct refuge
Peace and relaxation a distant concept
Startled shrieks upon their bold forays
Pervasive worry over their next sortie

Fearful defense setting full of trepidation
Will my fingers or their necks be snapped?
Is electrocution—more humane?
Or are they too obese to fit in the tunnel?

How long will this battle perpetuate?
Will the small hordes or large singularity win?
Will peaceful repose ever be possible again?
Or always interrupted by rustling, shrieks, and blurs?
Brent Kincaid Jul 2018
Hut, two, three, four
What do you think you are fighting for?
Four, five, six, seven
Invasion is the path to heaven.
Seven, eight, nine, ten
If it doesn’t work, do it again.
Six, seven, eight, nine
If innocents die too, never mind.

We need to clean things
Wipe lessers out of the place.
They’re a total threat and
Weaken our beloved race.
We don’t have time
For anyone sick or poor
We must go somewhere
And fight unreasonable war.

Helping the weak and sick
Costs too much money to allow.
Besides, there are among us
Suffering rich people right now.
This land owes it all to the rich
So, we must do all we can
To support them with each pitch.

So, hut, two, three, four,
Now you know what we’re fighting for.
Three, four, five, six
Now, none of your liberal tricks.
Five, six, seven, eight.
Don’t question your betters, that’d be great.
Hut, two, three, four
We are who you are fighting for!
Peter B Apr 2018
Since they arrived,
there's no peace.
We all know the reason
why they are here.
Brent Kincaid Jan 2016
Yesterday is much clearer
As the future is drawing nearer.
The histories we have rehearsed
Over time have become reversed.
It should make us very sad;
What was good has become bad.

The bad guys were the Indians
And the good guys Caucasians
And they were always right
Because they were always white.
The Red Man was a villain
Because he was an Indian;
And that was never corrected.
The name an invader selected.

These were people born here
Defending land they held dear
Because they had hunted
And were never really wanted.
The invaders called them savage
Their women okay to ravage
Because they didn’t have Jehovah
To issue them a binding mitzvah.

There were so few invaders
So at first they were persuaders.
But after putting out some feelers
They chose to become stealers.
They declared the natives sinners
And thus became the winners.
The natives hadn’t learned to read
So the invaders ignored all their needs.

The invaders were prepared to fight
To deny the natives their rights
So, the invaders created paper laws
Thus natives couldn’t tell what they saw.
Suddenly the noble savage was a crook.
The invaders gloated over what they took;
Stole native’s possessions from their hands
And declared it all as the invader’s land.

This is the Danes and Angles back when
And the story happened all over again.
But once the battle victory is scored
The native’s birthright is not restored.
The invaders cover up the tragedies
With inaccurate tales and call them history.

— The End —