Butterflies and Hurricanes

I have a pen friend from Pakistan

The mirror to my soul, the storm to my storm

A kindred spirit, as lost and as doubtful as I am

She asks me innocently if we have sevai at home

And gol gappe and jalebi and aloo ke parathe

As if these things might be alien to me

As if our families didn’t sprout from the same seed

As if our nations aren’t two branches of the same tree

Branches that took to different directions

Until thorns grew in place of its flowers

And its lush leaves turned to yellow

Then brown and then finally fell away

But the fruits of its labour are still the same

I have a pen friend from Pakistan

She asks me if I’ve heard a song I’m all too familiar with

Because growing up, our struggles have been similar

Our jokes have been similar, our pain has been similar

Our past is a story written with the same ink

On the same parchment that still smells of burnt paper

We speak the same language and look the same way

We’re like sisters who were asked to go their own ways

because someone drew a line on a map

They tell me we are us and they are them

But can’t they see this hatred is imaginary?

This enmity is cultivated and nurtured

With the fertilisers of fear and lies and venom

Until it reaps more evil day after day

Us vs them. You vs me. Human vs human.

Our biggest enemies live only in our heads

I have a pen friend from Pakistan

And everytime I message her I remind myself

Of how in my own little way

This is my protest, my rebellion, my revolution

This is my message of love and peace

This is hope that fits into the tiny text box on my screen

And for now, this will do