Who am I?
A poet or a doctor?
A Muslim or a Bangladeshi?
A boy or a son?
Who am I?
I dream, I love,
I speak, I write,
I hate, I like,
I laugh, I cry,
I walk, I run,
I stand, I sit.
I find nothing special,
That can prove me superior,
I am just like others,
I got the bloody fleshy body,
I got the emotional crazy mind,
So what is my identity?
I am just a man.
We all are the man,
Above all identities,
We need to prove,
That we are man.
No religion or race,
No relations or nationality.
We all stand on a same platform,
That reminds us that we are man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sweet...and so true. We're nothing but men, mere mortals but in construct, often unpredictable in our ways and attitudes...rough, hard...embittered yet soft (for we hate and like, laugh and cry alike) . That's what we incredibly are. It's truly philosophical and self-searching. And above all like you say, 'we all stand on a same platform...we are man'.