SIKANDER ABU ZAFAR
Under the sanctimonious happy resort of mother’s care
When the babbling of the child with fearful surprise
Stops the hands weaving mats of date-palm leaves
A few moments happiness shankhachil or sounds of doves
A few new stories can be heard
New-bloom Shapla surrenders with satisfaction
Painted varieties of pictures wipe out in the soft mirror of the pond
In the graves and crematorium with sudden torture
When capture in all the abodes
Fainted hearts of Bangali people
Then the name
Like father’s bosom, caring
Is spread and says
‘Fear not’, talisman of peoples care
Under the feet crush all untruths, non-glorious
That name is Mijib.
In the abyss of endless torture
Wailing of the tortured human beings
In recurrence
In the cloudless sky transparent eyes gaze
When the birds speak out in hapless sounds
Of falsified dialogue of heart
This is the name
In shattered skeleton voice claim million exaltations
Burst out in hundreds of voices
With confidential path of the horizon
Stands erect before ruthless giant with sharp weapon
Bold, rigid, head-high
That name is Mujib.