(10 June 1918 - 19 October 1974 / Magura / Bangladesh)

In The Coming Winter

They will shiver and dropp one day
With the winter wind.
On the barren branches in the forest
On that day
You will strike root without dispute.

Still you think once:
What sap nourishes you?
How many bones make your beds cozy?
How many infant-corpses make your warm pillows?
What numberless scaly human chests' blood
Brings youthful songs to your lips?

Just think for a while:
Yet there is death,
Still your accidental death lies ahead.
Now stop your blood-sucking life's song,
Leave bank's towers,
Discard the thighs of the whores
And come down just for once−
On the free and flowing course
To the hungry chill-bitten crowd of people;
Come down to the night's darkness.

These people will die,
And will leave behind sighs
And last wailing due to hunger.
Tree-leaves will turn yellow
This winter will take away
Only the bones of premature dead bodies.

More winters will come and go;
You perhaps think
The bastards from your mistresses and beautiful whores
Will thus remain blood-sucking greedy forever.

Perhaps you think
Your policy of this type is harmless
And flowering easily in the bank's towers.

But it's a great blunder−
Foolish and crazy.
You see today−
Those who throughout the earth
Are spreading beds of bones
Will not tolerate forever,
With life-long sacrifice their spring comes
Along with gun-power −by crossing
The plains of the approaching winter
With cruel and revengeful bayonets
−The day of the mutiny.

[Translated by Abdur Rashid Khan]

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