Such a wonderful day today,
nobody laments for the dead, none
fears death's grim face. A strange gleam
lights the weary body and face; in each footstep
the glittering light of determination is aglow.

As if they have signed their names
in Bengali
On their own death-sentence;
"I have taken up my mother from the dust
to my bosom."
There have been Salam, Barkat and thousands
of unknown names.
They were their father's only hope, their mother's
last possession, someone's partner for life
or a lone brother of some hapless sister-
They are no more now.
They are no more? No, that's not true!

They are here in the sky and wind
very close to our hearts.
They are in the marching feet of the processions,
with the undying song of death in their throats,
in the fiery looks of the angry protesters.

Ekushey is now mixed with blood and
the Bengali tongue
It is now unconquerable by any.

Published At Adhunika  - February 2005