Immortal and undecaying these poems, I know, will die one day;
one day all fame and immortality will fall flat among the debris.
The Himalayas, the Twin Tower and the Great Wall of China
will be flying in the air like the light dry skins of onions.
The eyes of Newton and Einstein will be upturned;
upon those eyes, the blue ashes of the utterly destroyed stars
will be falling down ceaselessly. Alas! where will be lost
for ever science, technology, art, literature, music and
paintings earned through thousand years?

When these poems will die one day; when all fame and immortality
will fall flat one day among the debris; when the Himalayas,
the Twin Tower and the Great Wall of China will be flying
in the air like the light dry skins of onions; when
the eyes of Newton and Einstein will be upturned; when
upon those eyes, the blue ashes of the utterly destroyed stars
will be falling down ceaselessly; alas, when where will be lost
for ever science, technology, art, literature, music and
paintings earned through thousand years; that day, o God,
pour down those poems into my soul, listening to which,
all the nymphs and inhabitants of Paradise will start
dancing in joy.

I walk bearing such a soul which plays like a flute,
sings like a cuckoo, runs stirring murmuring sounds
like a spring and dances unfolding its feathers
like a pea-****. If I were not submerged utterly
into the darkness of the worldly life, my soul
would play such a way, your sky would start trembling;
it would sing such a way, the passers-by would remain
standing by speechless; it would run stirring murmuring sound
such a way, poems after poems would fall down into the souls
of the poets; and it would dance unfolding its feathers
such a way, the eyes of the beauty-lovers would be dazzled
in wonder. My soul is, as it were, a cuckoo that has
mistakenly entered a city; it sings songs but the outcry
of the machine-monsters does not let them enter
the ears of lords and ladies.

[Dedicated to Aung San Suu Kyi, the greatest Fraud of all times]

Darkness like Halagu Khan is running
taking sword in hand;
Light is fleeing raising its tail.

The decorated dream-city will lose its
electricity for ever;
in all directions, the slogan of hyenas
will be heard only.

Going to the shade of Bodhi Tree,
I asked Gautama Buddha,
'By tasting which poisonous fruit,
your disciples have become insane
and have been involved in massacre
in Myanmar? '

Hanging his head, said Gautama, 'Darkness.'

Going to Bethlehem, I asked Jesus Christ,
'By drinking which grape-juice,
your disciples have become insane
and have been involved in massacre in Mosul,
Baghdad and Syria singing of democracy? '

Hanging his head, said Jesus, 'Darkness.'

Going to the holy home of Moses,
I bowed down my head and said, 'Would you
tell me, by eating which Manna and Salwa
your disciples have become insane
and have been involved in killing children
and women in holy Palestine? '

Hanging his head, said Moses, 'Darkness.'

Going to Mathura city, I said to Lord Krishna,
'Please tell me, by eating which food
offering to deity, your disciples have become
insane and have been involved in massacre
in Kashmir, Delhi and Gujarat? '

Hanging his head, said Krishna, 'Darkness.'

Darkness like Halagu Khan is running
taking sword in hand;
Light is fleeing raising its tail.

Again the days of darkness have descended on earth.
I have been searching Abdul-Muttalib's son
Abdullah's house in Pharaoh's city—
in such a thick darkness, no doubt,
the Sun of the desert had risen
in the lap of Amina!

[Translated by the poet from Bengali]

My kids ask me, 'O dad,
why don't we have home?
Why do we, like gypsies,
from place to place roam?

See, birds fly; before night
they come back in nest;
Only we have no home
on earth to take rest.'

How do I tell my kids:
one day I too had
a country; when I remember
it, I feel so sad!

How do I tell them: the
rich robbers of earth,
like dragons, have swallowed
the place of my birth?

They come in the name of
democracy; so
we salute them, because
to democracy, who can say ‘No'?

Immortal and undecaying these poems, I know, shall die one day; one day all fame and immortality shall fall flat among the debris. The Keokaradang, the Himalayas, the Twin Tower and the Great Wall of China shall be flying in the air like the light dry skins of onions. The eyes of Newton and Einstein shall be upturned; upon those eyes, the blue ashes of the utterly destroyed stars shall be falling down ceaselessly. Alas, where will be lost for ever science, technology, art, literature, music and paintings earned through thousand years!

When these poems will die one day; when all fame and immortality shall fall flat one day among the debris; when the Keokaradang, the Himalayas, the Twin Tower and the Great Wall of China will be flying in the air like the light dry skins of onions; when the eyes of Newton and Einstein will be upturned; when upon those eyes, the blue ashes of the utterly destroyed stars will be falling down ceaselessly; alas, when where will be lost for ever science, technology, art, literature, music and paintings earned through thousand years; that day, o God, pour down those poems into my soul, listening to which, all the nymphs and inhabitants of Paradise will start dancing in joy.

I walk bearing such a soul which plays like a flute, sings like a cuckoo, runs stirring murmuring sounds like a spring and dances unfolding its feathers like a pea-****. If I were not submerged utterly into the darkness of the worldy life, my soul would play such a way, your sky would start trembling; it would sing such a way, the passers-by would remain standing by speechless; it would run stirring murmuring sound such a way, poems after poems would fall down into the souls of the poets; and it would dance unfolding its feathers such a way, the eyes of the beauty-lovers would be dazzled in wonder. My soul is, as it were, a cuckoo who has mistakenly entered a city; he sings songs but the outcry of the machine-monsters does not let them enter the ears of lords and ladies.

An innocent boy leaving the lap of mother
opened his fearful eyes in the war-trodden world
and asked in a depressed voice, 'Where have I come? '
I told him the name of the earth.

The boy looked at the corners of the earth
and with wonder and pain, seeing the towns and paths
full of corpses and heart-rending bloods
further asked, 'Will you tell me
how man lives in this hell? '

I said to him, 'Oh, it's a shame!
Where is man in this hell? '

I can go to war with those this very day
who are against hunger,
who are against death
and who take arms against the invaders.

Boars are destroying all the crops of life
entering the fields of civilization;
jackals are devouring the corpses of our kith and kin
digging their graves;

vultures are singing the rotten withered songs of democracy
clutching the map of our heart;
leaving my home for ever, I can go away with those
who are against these boars,
who are against these jackals and vultures
and who draw irritated hands
against their aggressive hands.

Now my heart cries
saying war war. Saying war war,
my heart bursts into anger
like an atom bomb.

Life is nothing but war,
and living without war means mere death.
The river whose course is serpentine
is the most beautiful of all.