On the rail-way once I saw
A lord pushed down a man for his being a coolie.
My eyes got burst with tears;
Will the weak be beaten this way
Throughout the world?
The steam-vehicle was made of Dadhichi’s bones;
The lord got on it;
The coolies were fallen underneath.
Do you say that you have paid wages?
Shut up, great liars!
Tell, by paying how many pennies to the coolies,
How many crore you have earned!
Motor-cars ply through high-ways;
Ships cruise over seas
And steam-vehicles run on rail-ways;
The whole country is filled with machines;
Tell, whose contributions are all these?
With whose blood, are your buildings painted red?
Remove the glass from your eyes
And read what is written on each brick.
You may not know
But each and every grain of dust
Knows the meaning of those roads,
Vessels, vehicles and palaces.
Good days are coming;
Day by day, the debt has increased enough-
It is high time to pay.
Those who broke the hills with hammers, crowbars
And pick-axes, their bones are strewn on either side
Of those hill-cut roads;
Those who, in order to render your service,
Became laborers, porters and coolies;
Those who, in order to carry you,
Smeared their holy bodies with dust-
They are only men,
Only gods they are, I sing their song;
New revolution comes setting her foot
On their afflicted bosoms!
You will recline at ease on the third floor
And we will stay underneath;
Still, we will call you god-those days are gone by!
The helm of the world’s vessel will remain
At the hands of those
Whose bodies and minds are soaked
With the affection of soil!
I will pick up the dust of his walking
On my head as a sacred offering
Who journeyed with others
Through the tiresome roads.
Smeared with the blood
Of the pain-stricken suffering of the world,
Today the new sun of new dawn is rising
Reddened above the horizon.
Smash today all the rusty shutters
Of narrow congested hearts
And take off the artificial garments
Covering colored skins.
Unlock all the bars
And let all the winds of sky
Which have become coagulated blue
Enter this bosom besotted with joy.
Let all the skies break down upon our cottages;
Let the Sun, the Moon and stars
Fall down upon our heads.
Rush, all people of all countries and of all times,
To this confluence, and standing here,
Listen to the flute of harmony.
If one is tormented here,
That torment plays equally
Into all people’s bosoms.
Here, one’s dishonor is shame
To the whole mankind,
Humiliation to all people.
Today is the day of upheaval
Of great Human-beings
And of great pain;
God smiles in heaven,
Satan trembles underneath.
Translation: 17.6.2017 Sirajganj
