Oh tireless wanderer,
Not a happy and lucky one,
But a sad and helpless fugitive.
On a never ending chase,
For a nest and honor,
In this cruel world.
At the mercy of
Power hungry heartless leaders.
Shuttling like a cock,
Compelled to leave,
Dear and near ones.
Are you a shadow or a real being.
Alas! Thy progenitors passed away,
But denied to have a
Last glimpse of their coffins,
Blood thirsty Islamists,
Ready to sacrifice thou,
Like a bleating goat.
Perhaps, only the death,
Can relive thou of,
All the wounds and sufferings,
Inflicted upon, by fellow Islamists.
Oh the gypsy author,
Renounce this red world of hatred,
And embrace the world of love and brotherhood,
Faith of thy fore fathers,
And return to thy roots, dear Taslima,
And reincarnate into the mystical world of
Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh.
From:
DR. Yogesh SHARMA
I found this almost a prayer it it very sorrowful or seems that way to me.It flows very smoothly.Great read
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Aye, so be it sir. Cheers. Subroto