Putting a finger in the eyes,
Showering grace on the chest.
Flooding all reserved dreams
In a straight direction.
There are no abundant vessels
To catch the pearl drops of rain,
Seeping from the leaks of an old roof.
What shall be accumulated?
What is to be eaten
To fulfill the fiery hunger of a meal,
While another remains half-starved?
Flooding on the floor
And there, smeared with mud, being too tired,
Mother Seuty is sleeping, not quietly alone.
In the midst of her motherly heart,
Her two children huddle together for warmth,
Looking at the face of the starry moon.
Sewing with the threads of dreamy land,
Patching the cracked core of the heart,
They stand up with the resolution of revolution,
Like the peepul tree, growing weary,
But never falling down or giving up the fight.
Anchoring the hopes of growth,
Expanding the fibrous roots,
They are still alive, sailing the boat.
The life of the poor is like bitterly cold conditions,
Which shiver the bones of the backbone.
In search of salt,
They lose the preserved boiled food,
Soaked in water for the upliftment of their future.
Note:Originally written by Sofiq-Uz-Zaman(Dulal).Translated into English by Mottakeenur Rehman.