Poem By Ishrat Afreen
Come the rains this year, in every flower bed fireflies shall be planned
The tears of the widows of peasants shall be planted.
How long will the havelis of the landlords bleed the peasants?
How long will rosy cheeks in their foundations be planted?
Heaven knows those ‘voodoo' has struck my green fields?
Charms will be dug in and magic shall be planned.
So long as those who suck the fertile soil dry still live
My youths shall let the drips of their own blood be planted.
Hands which make flowers bloom from mind to mind and dream to dream
Rainbow colours, the moon, the fragrance of the notes of music shall be planted.