The world at this moment of night has turned into a mosque.
The world at this moment of night has become
a silent soft mat of prayer.
All the movements have come to a close,
all the dins of horizon have become still.
After the day’s toil of tilling sins and virtues
like a tractor, the tired locality like a dead body
has entered into a stony sleep.
In the province of sleep, only the sleepless stars
bathing in the moonlight of Jikir* blaze to decorate the sky.
The world at this moment of night has turned into a mosque.
The world at this moment of night has become
the quite solitude of a grave
Like a pot made of glass,
let the sleep be broken to those
let the sleep be broken to those
let the sleep be broken to those
who are wiling to subdue the moaning of heart
who are wiling to pick up the gold of timeless pardon
in their blissful fists.
*Remembrance of the name of God
[Translation of Bangla poem ‘Prithibi Ekhon Ei Ratey’ taken from the poet’s first book ‘Pronoyer Prothom Pap’ (1996) ]