Poem by Rezauddin Stalin from Bangladesh

Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού

Translated by Ashraf Chowdhury

From The Stage of Execution

Rezauddin Stalin

I exactly don’t know why
From behind the prison sell I remember my mother
Mother used to say you know- writing poem doesn’t bring bread and butter
I remained silent in humiliation

But today I have time
I can ask question like a brave son
Mother, who don’t write poems- can they bring bread and butter either

My mother is now counting her last days
And the predecessors are lying in the graveyard
I don’t know if they died of hunger or not
And the science of the lords doesn’t blame
Hunger as the cause of human death

I will be hanged at the third watch of the night
To know the final message
The concern of rainy winds floats in the eyes of my comrades
May be my death has settled the dew of countless pains
In the sky of their eyes
That will be twinkling like pearls
In the sun of love

I am indebted and grateful to my fellow comrades
The poems written by me
Are the essences of their life indeed
I’ve just decorated them with immortal ink of the truth
I have not forgot their love
By the ordinary pain of death

The love that no one- can unearth
Even throughout his lifetime
Standing at the edge of death I feel that today

Now I am heeding toward the place of public execution
I’ve only one minute left to be hanged
Meanwhile what else may I leave for a nation in decline
Without the example of igneous death