The Flame / By Aranna Hasan Delwar

By Aranna_Hasan_Delwar

I saw the fire in the eyes of young people during the stormy days of the twenty-two years

On the brink of fifty years of independence

I stand looking for the touch of that rain.

In each township on the block map

Let the sleeping volcano burn;

Let the injustice, the forbidden prison of oppression float away,

Let all the torture cells collapse

Earthquake in the port of inhuman heart.

The salty taste surrounds the grass

Life is the varnished furniture of happiness

Beetles are eating;

The smell of flowers is now the stench of rotting corpses

Waiting for the sea tide

Tired life expectancy!

And how many silent places will stand and watch

Burned skeletons of civilization?

Scream and say-

This barbed wire map is not mine

This bloody flag is not mine-

This barren land is not mine;

Flames burn like seventy-one

Burn down this prison.

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©Aranna Hasan Delwar