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.