In a place where snowy-mountains dot the skyline, where delicate pink-petaled tulips bloom across vast stretches of grassy green fields, where three different cultures join as one to do the laundry in crystal blue lakes, is a divided valley. This is no ordinary place; it is where there is a melting pot of religions. Each person is different in features and beliefs, but the same at heart.
But nobody acknowledges this sameness.
They fight. They stain the beautiful colors of the once-peaceful valley with blood. They attack one another, they torture each other, they kill each other in the most brutal ways mankind has ever heard of.
Though they both believe they are fighting in the name of peace, they won't stop to look at their sameness. The land is both of theirs; each rose-tinted wooden home, each intricately carved wooden boat stained with the colors of nature, every mountain and valley and tulip.
Yet they refuse to join hands and see that inside, both of them are equal.
Hey guys, this is a small piece relating to my heritage. For a long time, I've seen hatred between Pakistanis and Indians (although people blame this on religion), but I believe that this is a political problem, not one relating to our inner feelings. Aren't Indians and Pakistanis both humans? Why can't we reside on the same ground that we call home? Maybe it's the time to reevaluate our actions and think about what's similar about us, and not different.