The Shepherd Boy Poem by Nazmul Haque

This is the village and the shepherd boy
with his long hair,
Black is he like the 'vromor',
but birghter than the red rose.

Like green paddy is the attraction
of his innocent face,
And someone has added the freshness
of green grass to that sweet innocence.

His hands are those as thin as the unripe 'Lao',
His skin is that as like the 'tomal tree' of the 'shaon' month.
His face is such as happiness resides there,
As when a farmer smiles amidst his puddy fields.

It is with this black eye that we see the colourful world,
It is with this black ink that we write the 'kitab' and 'quran'.
Birth is black and Death as well, and black reigns all over,
And this black boy of this village has won all altogether.

He who makes the gold, let him proud in vain,
Give me this colour and I will draw a colourful rainbow. Neither gold, nor silver nor any golden face,
This black boy with his black face give my heart a deep solace.
He is 'Rupai', but silver is he not, yet more than that,
One day for his name, the name of this village will flash.