Sofiul Azam - A Jew Among the Wolves III lyrics

In the dusty office at the Indian P. E. N. you sat; young wordsmiths swam in the frothy procreative sea! now the grown-ups in different walks of life prowl and smell the stench of emptiness spread around. Dark silhouettes need nothing to repeat but grief. Flowing into the night, you whispered: it happens - from boredom to a revelation is only one small leap. If only you prepare for it, it happens. Be graceful. The dimentions of your grace are above my thoughts. You did fly with your ‘single wing of imagination.' At Grandpa's farmhouse in monsoon I listened to the rain pattering on its old corrugated tin-roof, and saw lightnings tear the night-sky into shreds. I'm glad you listened to the nightlong rain as I did. A sort of encounter with nature meets the eye. Your mouth spat out words bopping wild in the air; still in those warlocks' ears your music lingers. Winds don't cease scaring quivering candlewicks. Perhaps South Asia will keep your wicks flaming, despite the winds' crudities reaching everywhere. Perhaps you might have hawked at street corners herbs for sale and died unmarked, unknown, a failure. Now you ain't a failure, that's your career & triumph. Never in our borne life can we hope to do such work. Your name will live in the hearts of your people. In the case of fame's longevity as in uncertainties, all this ain't aegri somnia nor am I anguis in herba. Fair shares of wreckage for all is the d**h Party's call. You bettered your postures to make poetry palpable; and stayed ‘awake to get some more work done.' Dear, whatever you did with dreams ain't in vain; you trained yourself to ‘recognise the real thing, ' your ‘agitations of the mind' merge into a meaning: all these put down on pages will live to the future, unlike lines written on the beach at Cox's Bazar.