(11 July 1936 - / Brahmanbaria / Bangladesh)

In The New Year

The smell of rice hurts my nostril.
As soon as I get back my conscience,
I notice all the doors closed.
When I dare open them all,
the capitalists frown at me addressing as blind.

Blood within by breast gets silently injured.

My eyes are full of dreams for rice.
When I demand to have my dreams fulfilled,
the capitalists shout saying, 'Wild ! Wild !'
When I pick up scythe at hand to harvest paddy,
they cry, 'it's the most vile work!'

Yet the sun rises in the sky in the new year.

A bird of eternal peace calls to me in my dreams.
Getting up from bed, I now on the way
to look for that blue bird.
I don't know where and how far she is.
I wish I were all day long a body-gourd of her .

Had I surrendered my body to her in a solitary
place !

[Translated by Sayeed Abubakar]

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