Come

Come, let us wrest our liberty, 
The liberty to speak, 
The liberty to place one letter
to the right of another
And make up words,
The liberty to sing a hymn to life, 
The liberty to make a glowing utterance, 
Full of meaning and reason. 
Come, let us wrest with our strong hands
The liberty to say something
    one can see and touch, 
Something like flowers or birds or ships.
Come, let us utter the word "Liberty". 
No, no prayer at the altar of the Goddess of Muse,
No, no gift from far away.
No lonely dedicated study.
Nor any solitary struggle within one's inner self.
Now at this hour
I call all my senior poets, 
I call all those who think and feel like me, 
All the thunder that lies hidden in my bones, 
All the venom that resides in my hatred,
All the love that breathes in my soul, 
All the hurt that festers in my heart.
I call them all. Now at this hour 
    of pitch-black darkness.
I say, "Come poet; come love; 
    heal my wounds.
Turn men into poets. 
    Come, turn poets into men.
Come, come, come.

Translated by Kabir Chowdhury