The
face of a proud father shone
On
the blue thick screen of my television set,
A
face unmistakably like that of Farouk,
Recounting
the memories of the martyr
The
fierce faith of a youth flared up there.
The
unfurling of a deep sorrow
in a grief laden heart,
The
glowing beautiful personal world
of a darling son,
A
fearless personality nurtured in love and affection.
In
whose blood always rang
The
music of my “native land,
my native land”,
Wherein
always eagerly rose
A
vibrant youthful pride……
As he reminisced
The
deep tones of the grief-stricked father
Stopped.
A
fiery procession,
Familiar
scenes of the past,
Sorrows
and pain of a simple family,
Happy
days surrounded by father
mother
brothers
And
sisters;
Suddenly
on day the carefully hidden
Subdued
fire blazed forth,
And
he took his stand right at the head
Of
the resistance struggle,
A
throbbing fearless bold heart
With foreknowledge of inevitable death,
After
he had said it all
He
suddenly looked up
His
eyes heavy with pain .
I
saw that as he uttered the words
“Shaheed Farouk”
He
was overwhelmed with sorrow ,
His
ancient eyes grew moist
In
a silent prayer.
Absentmindedly,
wearily, restlessly
He
stared with unseeing indifferent eyes.
As if he searched
The
dear face of his off-spring
In
the corridors of memory,
A
picture of those tempestuous familiar days
Of
childhood and adolescence,
Fuil
of heart’s warm emotions
Shining
against a deep dark background
….Oh,
they were full of such anguish !
In
the secret chambers of the heart
Only grief flowed.
When
the country lay prostrate in sorrow,
What
a fierce fire burned
Vowing a terrible vengeance.
Translated
by Kabir Choudhury
Mohammad
Mahfuzullah
(1936--)