Gettysburg Address Poem by Rahman Henry
Gettysburg Address
It was lain in a grainfield, faraway,
As it occurs often; decomposed, has been melted.
A few jackals dragged it
And brought closer to the locality;
No way to identify. Now, the people started whispering:
— ‘‘Ah, who is this dead man? ''
And I can hear, clearly
In Bengali, resounds and reproduces— Gettysburg Address:
‘‘— of the people, by the people, for the people—''
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/30/2024 4:59:05 AM # 1.0.0.1119
