By Aranna Hasan Delwar
By Aranna Hasan DelwarThe crossfire of my words
The light of dawn at the last moment of the night
Just before the footbar-
When the muezzin's sweet voice
Touching the surrounding air
My ears touched my heart;
My poetry is tied
Scotch tape on the face
Black cloth on the eyes.
Through the sweetness of the call to prayer
Loudly
Bullets pierced my words.
And blood soaked the slippery road like rain water,
Poetry was still alive
He understood by hearing the sound of boots
They're leaving-
The call to prayer is no longer heard.
Quiet all around;
Rape is from the depths of the woman's heart
Pick up the word, or
of a missing person
Tears of beloved wife, son, daughter
Drops of words that fall!
Crushed by reckless driver's car
In the silence of the child's parents
A sound that vanishes into thin air
I caught him
Then the crying ground of words
Soaked in the water of sighs
A poem.
When the state has the rights of its citizens,
Fails to ensure security
Then the poems came down to the streets
The city vibrates with slogans;
Surely that is not treason?
My innocent poetry was captured
Four-wall solid steel
Torture in a closed room.
Even then, when my poetry rises
Trying to protest
As a fugitive terrorist
He was taken to Maidan in crossfire
From his body in the darkness of night
The words are taken out one by one.
See my words fall
See my child is like a poem
tragic death
I kissed my lover's soft lips
can't write poetry
A lover's body cannot give me words;
I can't weave in the words of love
No architectural features.
Standing in front of the Taj Mahal inside me
A line of poetry is not made.
The woman who lives with burning wounds
Whose house is filled with the pain of losing dignity;
From the brink of death…
He did not come back alive
normal life-
I saw anger in his eyes
Furnace burning deep in the heart
He gives me words to create poetry.
I want the release of my poetry
Inhuman killing of innocent words
I have come to ask for humane justice.
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