PHOTO:
ORCHID CHAKMA
Every now and then, I shift the curtains of my room and pretend
That I am not inside my house.
And that I have no proof of the thousands of murders committed,
That I have not seen with my two eyes how defeated
The children of my country are.
I pretend that I know no green and red flag
That has been reddened with the blood gushing from Mughdho’s skull.
And I pretend to fool myself and play ignorant
To the hundreds more they enforcefully disappeared.
When I walk, I carry a smile I borrowed from an innocent child playing in a field,
Who equals me in not knowing anything.
But the heavens and oceans know, I know it all, I have known it all since the very beginning.
But when I tread on the corrupted streets, I tread defying my knowledge.
Because I am one of them. And I must survive.
Iftehaz Yeasir Iftee
is a third year student at IBA, University of Dhaka.
July 18
Do you remember the sunset on the 18th of July? What colour was it?
Orange? Red? Violet perhaps? Or was it a simple hue of blue?
I have asked the birds for an answer; they say they didn’t fly that day.
The thrashing movement of the copters, the buzzing sound of the flaps,
The smoke from the tear-gas has not let them fly in the sky.
So, when, in the pursuit of an answer, I ask the birds,
I get no reply.
Run
Myriads of legs marching. Hand in hand. Firework of slogans.
Broad daylight or silent night. Goons and guns.
Velocity of bullets. A broken skull. An unmoved body. A hasty run.
How many days shall it continue? How much more to run?
I have run a mile more with everyone else, and I shall keep running.
Unknowing of what to expect next, careless of what is coming.