A Manifesto Of A Bard Poem by Mohammad Mohi Uddin

Let the birds soar in the sky,
Let the grey clouds float in the high.
There is nothing called a warplane,
Let the bluest space trust this claim.

Let the grains smile on African ground,
Let the whole of Europe water on it.
There is nothing called hunger,
Let the black desert believe in the gyre.

Let all boundaries bend down towards faces,
Let them be crashed at feet, not on human heads.
There is nothing called Nationalism,
Let the earth rely on this optimism.

Let the collective dreams be a single essence,
Let all die as the ants to be an associated passage.
There is nothing called detachment,
Let Bruegel's Icarus conceive with contentment.