Forgetting over and over,
his mind is a killing ground now;
he is to stand face to face with death
in a cold war everyday.
The breath of the old man-a poignant neigh
of that horse, fate has cast off
whose rider in a deserted land, all alone.
Still, he jogs in red trousers
at dawn, he rides again on the back of a young horse-like world;
keeps thinking, what can he do with this life?
(Translated from Bangla by Raihan Sharif)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.