Translated by Hossain Ahmed Arif Elahi
The crimson hue is still in the morning sky.
The earth too smearing a deep blood on the colossal wings
Has been floating in the air since time unprecedented.
Awaiting - the voice - with the voice itself she will be eloquent - once more
The slogan of Joy Bangla suffused with the sunlight
Will fall on the wings
From the history after a while.
Man obviously becomes frightened of the speechless death alone.
Thus it raises itself
Along the green boughs and foliage occasionally.
The leafage gets rejuvenated,
Reverberated, and also the pages of the annals are being
Driven by turbulence - when to roar -
The commotion of Joy Bangla – confer upon him
The umbilical cord! Look, from the placenta
The blood overwhelmed is yet flowing
Through the nibs of pens of the Bangalees.
History never remains silent! On Bengal and on the far distant
Thirteen hundred rivers even today the boat there from visibly
Resurrects the blood-stained father, indeed a wonder!
Hossain Ahmed Arif Elahi is Professor of English at a government college. He likes to muse on the workings of his heart and head, thereby incorporating them into literature.