Come back child, come my son
To your mournful mom’s side
Won’t you see this land free
How does it live – far and wide?
On the way to war, you said – mom
Give me an embrace,
I will return after
Freeing this place.
You went son, and never returned
But free we now live
A flag flies on our beloved land
And grief has grasped this chest.
If you would go forever
Over by that kite – flying freely, soaring endlessly in breeze
The reel spins in the boy’s hand. His mom calls out suddenly –
Where are you Khokan, where?
Are you in the field at this time?
Don’t you think about your lessons?
You spend your time playing Danguli and football, day and night!
The books of your classes are untouched!
You failed in English, Maths, and Arabic during the half-year exams
With zero marks!
And yet, you spend time singing, swimming, and playing?
Under the blazing canopy of Boishakh’s scorching sun
You are riding a raft or a boat in the lap of river, friend of the waves
With the ribbon of a seven-coloured rainbow.
Games await you.
Self-made is Khokan’s world – books remain unread
In search of birds, in search of flowers, a tired Khokan closes his eyes
Sitting under the shade and cold-breeze of a tree.
Rests a bit, and rises again
Runs to the distant mountain peaks
Running, running – never tiring
Returns to the cloud’s lap
Blends into the wilderness!
And blends into the wilderness!
Debashis Deb är en poet, översättare och journalist från Dhaka. Han arbetar på bdnews24.com
