Sohrab Pasha :
Spring breeze vibrates through the dust-grey forest of the world today
Here the Spring blossoms as flowers of Ekusbey.
Shahid Minar fills up with bunches of red flowers of tender love
The amazed grey bird of Charya is flying to the edge of distant horizon
The wild rain has swept away the long-hyphens of pains to the water of Rupsa
The dreams of Rafiq, Salam and Abul Barkat fill
This sacred sky of Ekushey ;
They knew, language of tears or flame of grief doesn’t last long
Mother tongue holds its eternal glow to the tree of dream
The sun of gnosis bursts through the blind clouds
The dawn-light of civilization emerges from the magic-seeds of desire
In the depth of the soul bloom up ‘Geetanjali’, agile ‘Agnibeena’
They knew, the flow of words finds the land of awakening of sleek sunlight
The busy hour of roses blooms in the blind wings of time
Language means sun-drenched anchol of ma’s sari in gentle breeze
Imagings of new leaves
Endless-blossoming in the eyelids
First story of growing up of dawns of golden light
Language means the eyes of the farmer learning maths of rain
Coloured shades on the grassy land, the glow of the fireflies at night
Midnight’s tender moonlight, white rain of Bokul
Language means uprooting the rusty-nail of sensation in dusty darkness
Soaked-noon by wild wind of red Polash
It is the luminous utterances of the heart
Language means never going back
‘Joy Bangla’ – the sweetest slogan
From the dreamful embryonic mother-tongue in heart’s deep
Bangladesh
Spring breeze vibrates through the dust-grey forest of the world today
Here the Spring blossoms as flowers of Ekusbey.
Shahid Minar fills up with bunches of red flowers of tender love
The amazed grey bird of Charya is flying to the edge of distant horizon
The wild rain has swept away the long-hyphens of pains to the water of Rupsa
The dreams of Rafiq, Salam and Abul Barkat fill
This sacred sky of Ekushey ;
They knew, language of tears or flame of grief doesn’t last long
Mother tongue holds its eternal glow to the tree of dream
The sun of gnosis bursts through the blind clouds
The dawn-light of civilization emerges from the magic-seeds of desire
In the depth of the soul bloom up ‘Geetanjali’, agile ‘Agnibeena’
They knew, the flow of words finds the land of awakening of sleek sunlight
The busy hour of roses blooms in the blind wings of time
Language means sun-drenched anchol of ma’s sari in gentle breeze
Imagings of new leaves
Endless-blossoming in the eyelids
First story of growing up of dawns of golden light
Language means the eyes of the farmer learning maths of rain
Coloured shades on the grassy land, the glow of the fireflies at night
Midnight’s tender moonlight, white rain of Bokul
Language means uprooting the rusty-nail of sensation in dusty darkness
Soaked-noon by wild wind of red Polash
It is the luminous utterances of the heart
Language means never going back
‘Joy Bangla’ – the sweetest slogan
From the dreamful embryonic mother-tongue in heart’s deep
Bangladesh
Translation : Abdullah Al Mamun
