THE MIDDLE CLASS

 

REZAUDDIN STALIN

(Translated from Bengali by UMANATH BHATTACHARYA)

 

Because with anguish and agony our sky is grey,

the delicate designs of the stars,

the silky smiles of the moon,

–they all appear false and fake.

 

Tho’ our dress and bearing give the impression

of a comfortable life and noble descent,

by the impact of an incurable, infectious disease

we wear off inwardly, like a decaying rock.

 

Torn to pieces by the shaggy paws of a Tiger

Our Future

like a pale day engulfed in dark despair

counts the hour of its gory death.

What if at heart we await the advent

of a simple peaceful life

the reverse of this deformed, morbid society,

the air affrighted stirs a conflict in our mind

to join the fray on the blood-sodden path.

 

Of course by the infallible laws of History

one day in unbearable storm shall rise

and dash to the ground our deluding foolish dreams

and like morning-light beating on the window-panes

a spirited anthem shall ring out, loud and bold

whereupon wiping the yellow rheums from off our eyes

we, too, shall find out our tridents sharp.

 

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