| Saturday, 05 June 2021 | Print
A blood-stained word, a bullet, a rose.
When looking afar from sight of the chest, worldly memory
Flame of fire, burning dream — a bloody dream
Playing the game day-night to win over deaths
Freedom-loving heroic woman, my deary Palestine, Palestine.
Above the sky: the star burning, moon and sunrise being burning
Burning Arabian peninsula underneath
My beloved bloody Gaza and Jerusalem.
I’m nowhere; attached with nothing
Not in music
Not in the charm of women
Nor the field or the market
Not in the king and vassal treaty
How can I be a brother? Is it possible!
The heartbreaking cries of an orphan Arabian child
My chest being burned with that blooded child.
A sky Palestine, everyone’s favourite Palestine.
I am here with Bangladesh of 1971 on my shoulder
A grenade of death in my hand, a word
My eyes touched the hottest tears of the childless mother in the chest of desert.
A bloody yolk of morning:
Now I am standing in every inch of land in Bangladesh
Now I am standing on every inch of water in Bangladesh
Strength and courage of standing are my only weapons:
Bangladesh and Palestine …
Translated by Faruk Ahmed Roni
Posted 10:56 pm | Saturday, 05 June 2021
globalpoetandpoetry.com | faroque
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