“Nobody in India will love me.”
—Cyril Radcliffe, who made the borders of Partition in less than 40 days without ever previously visiting South Asia
& so I drew them a line.
what does it mean, to partition earth?
to cut the ocean? all the fish
wear flags on their fins.
the flies pledge allegiance
to which bodies, rotting
in the street, are theirs to nibble.
snowcocks nest on trees of their union
& name themselves Indian.
fisherman cast lines
across a liquid border
& become spies, bugging the other sides
fauna, dragging mackerel to daylight.
kafilas clash, territorial, murderers,
in the no man’s land.
they asked for a map
& so I drew a line
down the army, down the police
down the guns & the bayonets.
cousins partitioned from cousins,
mothers partitioned from child,
neighbors spearing neighbors,
women, virgins, jumping into wells
so full with people they can’t
find water to drown.