In nostalgia, 1947 I seek

*This poem is dedicated to the memory of the sad moments of Muslim mind of once East Pakistan in the Indian subcontinent, a mind which is imprisoned today in a secular monstrosity called Bangladesh, through liberation in 1947 to downfall in 1971.


In arrogance they never speak,
of a memory they say is so weak,
that history may never seek,
of the revival in popular memory,
of the legacy of the Spring of 1947.

In its place they eulogize,
the fallout of 1971,
a civil war amongst once brothers,
where sworn enemies turned friends,
and brothers in faith killed each other;
portraying it triumph of the secular,
and defeat of the communal,
in a concept highly peculiar,
attuned to serve interests,
of foe turned friend vague ‘Other’,
the seeming innocuous wolf,
in deceptive sheep’s clothing.

The Muslim mind in Bengal,
who had once given his all,
in 1947 had heeded the call,
for a homeland for all Muslims,
was now meant to fall,
and rise anew;
Rootlessly Secular,
An Imagined identity,
based on the fantasy,
of the myth called 1971.

Despite the passage of decades,

to the chetona of 1971,
the consciousness of 1947,
is a weltershaung to be feared,
a memory to repressed,
a book to be erased,
And its pages rewritten.

Hardly can it be denied,

that the very mention of revival,
of the spirit of the Spring of 1947,
is not just an act of political will;
It is another step in realisation,
of a spectre of a Pandora’s Box,
portending nightmares untold,
of the annhilation of the secular.


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