Translated by Souradeep Roy
This poem raises the question of “illegal immigrants” – a form of warmongering in “times of peace”.
After all, so much pain is hidden inside the box, or is tied to the bed.
They were not caught during check-in, they’ve sneaked passed the electronic devices.
They pass by the airport unflinchingly, in fact they even pass by the circle
of bodyguards, stand in front of several clueless
presidents-chief ministers–mayors, and scream – what the hell are you guys even thinking?
The soldiers throw bullets in vain, the swords fight on their own, their anger remains invisible.
Text © Utpal Kumar Basu; translation © Souradeep Roy; image © The Refugee Art Project
