Here sleeps in solemn silence under a Krishnachura tree
Our Father-the great emancipator of oppressed millions,
Here sleeps in eternal rest our beloved leader,
The friend of truth into the womb of mother earth.
Under a white marveled roof,
Here lies in eternal rest a revolutionary, an epic poet,
Who will never rise again
To thunder like a thousand roaring lions-
“The struggle this time is the struggle for Independence,
The struggle this time is the struggle for our Freedom.”
Here sleeps speechless an era, a history of struggle
Into the bosom of freedom-loving millions,
Refreshed by the warmth of their love with dream
Drenched by a sea of fresh blood.
Here sleeps in the bliss of heaven a hero,
Who led us to a war to break the shackles of bondage.
Here we behold to express gratitude everyday,
Stand for a while to pray to Allah, the Almighty
To shower His blessings on our leader’s soul.
Here a divine boy once smiled like a spring dawn
On the lap of a mother at the end of a golden night,
Here a restless boy grew up like a lion of the desert,
Inhaled the smell of own soil, air and the lush green
Paddy fields
With a determined vision to rise one day.
Here he first threw his eyes to the vast cloudless sky,
Here he first sketched out a red flag of Independence.
Here he first heard the screams of a hungry million,
Here he first blazed up his eyes like a summer sun,
Here he first sang the song of rebellion for Freedom.
Who knew that
A wonder boy would one day snatch Freedom for his people?
Who knew that
A Sheikh Mujib would one day illuminate all the dark nights?
Who knew that
A Father of the Nation would one day bring a sunny morning?
Who knew that
A Bangabandhu would one day turn our fear into a rebellion?
Who knew that
A rebel would one day bring turbulence in all the dead rivers?
He gave us Freedom but we gave him a tragic death,
He gave us a flag but we gave him a burst of bullets,
He gave us an identity but we gave him a silent goodbye.
Here with dumb shock we engraved him on August 15,
Snatched the beautiful world, which he brought for us.
Here we left him to the care of darkened shade of trees
With no salute that The Hero deserved from us.
The Madhumati lost its strength to flow as in the past,
The monsoon wind also stopped here all on a sudden,
The dusts even failed to fly across clouds in the sky,
Only pale remembrance reigned over all dumb faces.
But he is standing on the history’s tallest mausoleum,
Raises his forefinger to again ring the bell of Freedom,
His fiery speech still ignites the flame of revolution,
Still he inspires the teeming millions for another war.
His jade black eyes are still surveying …. the beauty
Of vast meadows in his holy motherland Bangladesh.
His forefinger like an arrow is still pointing to the
Magnitude of all boundaries around the vast blue sky,
Still we hear from the marveled grave
That majestic call for Freedom,
Still we hear a call echoing over plains and hills
In search of a sovereign land of our own,
Still we hear a divine boy playing a flute in the
Loudest tune to awake his people,
Still we hear a thunderous call for another fresh
Struggle to crush all enemies,
Still we hear a voice sweeping the Race Course
To crown our blood-stained flag,
Still we hear a voice bidding us courage afresh
Like the glow of a summer dawn,
Still we hear a voice calling upon his comrades
To salute the banner he once raised,
Still we hear a voice asking his people to unite
And crush the shackles of death,
Still we hear a call driving all of us to breaking
All the symbols of oppressions,
Still we hear a voice striding through all graves
Of martyrs across the country.
Let us again light our candles to spread the beacon of heaven,
Let us again hear that epic poem to awake our sleeping spirits.
Let us again sing that fiery song to dry up tears of all mothers,
Let us again rejoice our victory over the graves of all enemies.
Wake up father, wake up again
To refresh the promise of our tomorrow
By the spirit of a dawn’s early light
That comes in torrents on December 16.
Wake up father, wake up again
By breaking the marveled grave,
We in millions are ready here
To hear the epic poem of March 7.
Notes :
Leader : Father of the Nation Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, who led the Bangalees to Independence through a 9-month bloody war against Pakistan in 1971.
Krishnachura: a woody tree with blood-red flowers.
Modhumati : the river flowing along the village Tongipara, Bangabandhu’s birth place, in Gopalganj district.
