The Undying Voices

1952. Curfew was on and roads were vacant. Some armed hands were still haunting there To hush every possible roar or uprising rant With the spiteful hammer of thunderous fear. But a murmur of revolution was soon heard As thousands of spirited people marched on With the resilience of restoring their barred Language from the threshold of extinction. They protested peacefully carrying placard Of their clauses until the armed hands fired And soaked them with blood in vain to retard Undying voices that can never be smothered. Each drop of the sacrificial blood has built the monument of revolution that will always Shine as a star of Devotion and forever quilt The vigorous souls with its contagious rays. Their immortal death blazed a fire of liberty in hearts that were in the grip of oppression. Soon, it became a furnace that burned Deity Of Oppression and Bangladesh was born.