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Tanisha Tekriwal






























​Tanisha Tekriwal is an Indian student who is passionate about reading, writing and art. She is the House Captain at Welham Girls' School, and also the Editor-in-Chief of her school's literary magazine. This is her debut poetry publication.



(n.) A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the grief for the lost places of your past.

The Israeli-Palestinian region has been in a constant state of turmoil since the inception of the Israeli State in 1948. Millions have been displaced, thousands murdered and hundreds continue to die at the borders every day. In this particular poem, I alternate between the Palestinian and Israeli points of view to shed light on their common grief. 


No matter that our sun rises

On barbed wire and concrete walls

No matter that our sun rose

On Auschwitz gates and burnished names

No matter that our religion equals

identity at checkpoints


No matter that our religion equaled

identity at Borders

No matter that in seventy years of settlements

Home has disappeared

No matter that for hundreds before the seventy

Home was just a word

No matter that my grandfather

was shot in Jerusalem

No matter that my grandmother

never reached Jerusalem

No matter that raining bullets

don't pick sides

No matter that all our wounded

bleed red bright


No matter what we've lost

You and I are the same.

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