Tasneem Islam


A dedication to the soldiers who fought in the Bangladesh Liberation War

Air rushes past me, or was it a bullet?
Wind whistles in my ears.
I open my eyes and weep –

I realize I am running.
Slowing down, I turn my head left and right,
Trying to figure out where I am.
Finally, I glance down.

My feet!
Bruised and bloody, yet they are not touching the ground,
Which seems to be several hundred miles down.

I can fly!
Soaring, dipping, swooping, diving;
I am a bird with mud-colored feathers
And large brown eyes sparkling with freedom.

No one can reach me now,
Not with their guns or grenades, or worst of all,
Their words.
Words that tell me to betray my family,
Words that want to murder Bangla,
Words that are now lost in the wind.

More birds fly around me,
Singing out openly in the language we nearly lost.
We dance and rejoice because
The war is done.
And we have won.


Copyright 2002-2008 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2008 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.