You can smell blood in the air
See billowing smokes of gunfire
Feel the fettered men that died there
From hunger disease and hard labor!
Still reek the tennis court and the bakery
Of the sweats of penal toils in that island
Till they fell and died in slavery
To the lashes of the whips of ruler's hand!
The water plant stands like a cruel mockery
Its ironed frame now ruined in century's rust
Reminding those souls killed for bravery
Never got a drop of water to quench thirst!
Over the wails of the prisoners were made a paradise
Where the monsters retired to seek love at night
But the crumbling ruins of that island cannot disguise
the stains of blood and denial of prisoners' right!
Pradip Chattopadhyay's Other Poems
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Ross Island by Pradip Chattopadhyay )
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