I will also be immortal in the shrine of your feet,
Tell me, what garland you are preparing for me.
Here, accept my dowry: the promise of a bleeding heart.
I have cleansed my restless soul in spring water, I will cause a flood,
If you only touch my forehead with your hands designed in Chandan.
I will hoist your flag of glory in earth, sea and the sky,
I will bring down the mountain in your feet.
I will also be immortal, tell me what garland you are preparing for me.
I have been living like a toe in your feet,
I have been living like Chandan's scent inside a tree.
What should I be afraid of?
Living close to a graveyard, I am almost a grave,
Living close to the martyrs, I am almost a martyr,
My fingers are spread like many minerats of the Shahid Minar
And has become a part of the rising mass.
What should I be afraid of?
I will also be immortal, tell me what garland you are preparing for me.
Look at my soul: filled with the glory of death,
Dying in the grass like the withered morning Shefali.
Neither Akanda, nor Dundul, Rafiq-Salaam-Barqat-me-
In the shadow of my soul
Look at my weapons, bullets in my belt,
I have rebellion in my bones and marrows,
In the shining forehead the bloody sign of imminent war.
What should I be afraid of?
I will also be immortal in the shrine of your feet,
Tell me, what garland you are preparing for me.
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