I sing the song of equality–

Of a country where fresh joy blossoms in every heart

And new life springs in every face.

Friend, there is no king or subject here,

No differences of rich and poor.

Some do not feast on milk and cream here,

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An Illuminating Book on Nazrul

While others grovel for leftovers and broken grains.

No one bows before the feet of horses here,

Or before the wheels of motor cars.

Disgust does not arise in white men's minds here

At the sight of black bodies.

Here, in this land of equality,

Black and white are not buried in separate graveyards;

Nor do black and white pray in separate rooms and churches.

In this land there are no footmen or guards,

No policemen to evoke fear.

There are no conflicting religions here,

No cacophony of conflicting scriptures.

The priest and the padre, the mullah and the monk

Drink water from the same glass here.

The Creator's house of prayer

Is contained in the human body and mind here;

Here His throne of sorrow

Is formed by human suffering.

He responds readily here

To whatever name He might be called,

Just as a mother responds readily

To whatever name her child might call.

No one comes to blows here

Over the different apparel one wears–

Payjama, trousers or dhoti.

Clad though in soiled or dusty garb,

All are happy here.

Niaz Zaman, Advisor, Department of English and Modern Languages, Independent University, Bangladesh, is a writer and translator.