After So Long Years Of The Victory Poem by A K Das Mridul

This life, a tiny this life;
Failure life for struggling to survive,
Though some hopes still left,
Some episodes in memory of the victory in seventy one,
Some words in the bloody heart heaped unspoken,
And even after so long years of the victory
Drudging to find what is the meaning of the victory.

So then the victory means-
A flame of a lamp being quenched,
Which we take in all our failure attempts to light,
Or the extended hand of a beggar freedom fighter,
And the whine of battered peoples in the lashing of suppression?

Does this victory mean-
The heart breaking cry of a child bereft mother
And the wounded dead body of bullet battered peoples,
Or the humiliation going at the ruler's hand all the time
Of a miser freedom-fighter day labor so humble to conjuration?

Does this victory mean-
The not-end tortured life living in tragic sequel
Of a freedom-fighter's indigent child so lumbering with the burden of dowry,
Or even the lost of a helpless father's last recourse the homestead
Fallen in the trap of a baron?

Does this victory mean-
Giving arms to the hand of university student
To make him terrorist in name of politics,
Or the return back to home of an innocent good student
Being dead bloody departing the mother's bosom empty?

Does this victory mean-
The charming extended hand of a hungry child,
Who must struggle hard all the time to survive,
Or the sad of a woman from a freedom fighter family
Falling in succumb to prostitution by the lashing of poverty?

Does this victory mean-
The mourning moan at the house of a freedom fighter
So bereft for the lost of crops,
Or the rise of class discrimination in the society
By the hand of a group of selfish capitalist mass enemy?

Does this victory mean-
The giving life by an innocent pedestrian
In terrorists crossfire while returning from office,
Or the plaintive cry of the young girl
Of a helpless freedom fighter father being rapped?

Does this victory mean-
The tyranny and pen theft of those shameless bribers,
Who are always corrupting behind the red-less of file,
Or the endless trouble of innocent peoples
Falling in rage of ill politics?

Does this victory mean-
The succumb of a jobless youth from a falling middle family
To the way of terrorism due to lack of job,
Or the stepping of any youth-pair to the dark lane
Fallen under the grip of drug?

So then, I don't want this unexpected life,
Don't what such cruel sociability of the world,
Don't want the middle age oppression and hate,
We wanna live, with all right of the victory;
Not the captive life chain worn, but to live a usual life.

Raise Bengalis, this is the just time to weak up;
Extend your hand friend, let's swear to change;
Come the youth of this age, come the youth of thunder voice;
Let's array the battleship again,
Let's all combined to rebuild the country again.