Sin of Centuries
(a poem by Shakil Ahmed)
I oftenbehold
The shrunken faces of frozen men and women
stand before me jabbing
With their silent gaze,
Burdened with sin of centuries
Committed by their ancestors,
Living a life with laceration
In their head and face.
Lingering sighs and terrific sobs
Often collapse my Vein and arteries
Perturbed, I look at the
Monarch of sky, and
With benign submission
I ask-
what is the fault of these
People of suffering inn
Their tongue stumbles in the
Age-old web of poverty
And can not utter the words
Of much solicited repentance
I further ask the monarch
Of this clumsy universe
Who has created religion, caste and language
Who has sown these seeds
In the soil of these turbulent globe
Who has created the hunger of the stomach,
Hunger of the body and soul
Wherw do I look for the answers
Blazing face and burning eyes
Dazzle and darken my visage
Our stalwart statesmen are on a leisurley slither
After a long-lasting cocoon sleep
Our greatmen have turned eunuch
And elapsing their sedate hours
In a half-sleep comatose state
Out of apprehension none is telling the bitter truth
Standing on the valley of terrific death
I ponder and contemplate
Only God's clemency and forbearance
Can resolve the trubble and worry
Of men of this suffering inn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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