Space For Rent

Space For Rent
Sunday, March 29, 2015, Chaitra 15, 1421 BS, Jamadius Sani 7, 1436 Hijr


POETRY
Freedom, the way it is ours
Published : Sunday, 29 March, 2015,  Time : 12:00 AM,  View Count : 16

NIRMALENDU GOON

Translated by Mahmudul Hasan Hemal

A poem would be written; from the dawn
There await millions eager-rebellious audiences
In crowd:
"When will the poet come?"

Neither this park for children
Nor the flowering tree-garden was there.
The pale, dizzy afternoon - nowhere.
How, then, was this city covering with parks,
Benches, flowering trees?

I know the evil hand tends to wipe the history out;
So, in the barren land deprived of poets, there stood
Poets against poets,
Fields against fields,
Afternoons against afternoons,
Gardens against gardens,
March against March?

O the forthcoming infants, the poets of coming days,
Dangling on chromatic cradles, one day
You will know everything; For you
I am penning that greatest afternoon.
That was a different garden
Nothing - the park, the Eden - was there
Only was the horizon-merging,
Grass covered empty green field
Like the unfragmanted clouds in the skyline.
Our ever-loving soulful green came merging by
With this empty green field.

Covering heads and arms with the Red badge of courage
Rushed in this field the iron-worker from industries,
Herd of hungry farmers, plough and yoke on shoulders
Came the invincible youth snatching arms from policemen,
The middleclass with dreams behind eyelids, death behind fists
Came the low cast, the hapless clerks, women, old, prostitutes, hobos
And the children like you, the group of dry leaf-collectors.
A poem would be read out -
What an eager, invincible waiting of clamoring people:
"When will the poet come? When?"

After years of lengthy toil
Stepping up as firm as Tagore,
Then, the poet rose on the people's stage.

Then in blink the boat touched the wave
Hearts leapt up, ocean flew enormous
When hearts open wide
Who stops the voice of the thunderstorm?
Shivering the people's stage under mighty sun,
The Poet recited his undying poem:

'Ebarer Sangram Amader Muktir Sangram,
Ebarer Sangram Swadhinatar Sangram'

Thus, the word 'Freedom' belongs to us.


Mahmudul Hasan Hemal is a student of
English Department, University of Chittagong















Editor : Iqbal Sobhan Chowdhury
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