Authoritarianism in Bangladesh leaves its rotten underbelly on full display as law enforcement agencies and ruling party caders unleash brutal violence against university students fighting for their right to a dignified livelihood. Penned by Ikhtisad Ahmed, the following poem captures the mood of the occasion.
What is there left to say?
What metaphor or cliché
will I choose to capture this moment perfectly?
Perfection is the standard when
crimson flows from split skin agape,
clots black on tattered clothes
torn once more, stripped naked
broken bones protruding,
poking through split skin agape,
ligament dangling from the joint
smashed, detritus impregnating
the flesh dangling from the ligament
torn, hanging folds of split skin agape,
torn open, a knife, a machete, a bullet
piercing skin, shredding flesh, breaking bone,
breaking body, breaking spirit, breaking.
Perfection is the standard to
force the traitor tyrant queen to
listen, to make her bend the knee to
the dancing Abu Sayeed –
he fell before she did, the Fool who
knew too much, whom humanity knew;
fell his comrades by the dozen too
and now, what is there left to say?
Children, beaten, battered, broken,
innocence lost, lost hope, lost faith,
children, beaten, bludgeoned, butchered
not for the first time nor the last, on their broken
bones, broken bodies, broken spirits, broken
this kingdom, built, nurtured with cherry red water
and bloodcurdling cries of children, infants,
Beaten younger, battered, younger, broken.
What is there left to say?
What metaphor or cliché
when the dissenter is shamed as the traitor
and the traitor wears the crown, shameless?
Words, hollow words, hollow rotting bones
broken yesterday, piles of fresh, juicy bones
broken today on top, piles and piles of bones
born today, broken tomorrow, building Babel
when once Babylon was possible –
they fell, the broken, blood-stained bones.
What is there left to say
when words, many, meagre, meaningless,
could not prevent the beating,
the breaking of children, already broken,
broken again and again, again broken?
What is there left to say
when words, many, more, meaningless,
could not prevent the breaking of this land
already broken, broken again, again broken?
What is there left to say?
