The drum-beats sounded in the king’s realm
-Dakkhinaranjan Mitra Majumdar
Won’t beat again?
All dwellings – in towns or villages,
Are today the realm of a king;
The long hours of nightmare have ended.
After washing the face with tears for nine months
Cursing within one’s own mind
For whom the long wait
Tearning the darkness into pieces
Victory has come with a smile.
From the sounds of poems and songs
Smoke and smell of gun-powder emerge,
The lips of Barkat still demand Bengla
Wearing a thick turban of red colour
Given by mother,
For every inch of the country’s soil
Lives were lost …thirty lakh…
The shared death and sorrow
In the tidal-bore and floods of Seventy-one…
When the mother’s face paled
Took up arms while adrift on tear-drops
Bravo Bangladesh!
The world looks in amazement.
The flutes of victory dances with the drum-beats.
Bangladesh -forever pleasant, eternally sweet.
Transcripted by Helal Uddin Ahmed
