Two poems

By Sreeman Mishu Barua,
a Bangladeshi atheist with a web site at

The world isn't mine

The world isn't mine.

The world is for the rich, riches, and money's.

Leaving poverty house to house,

hungry, marrasmic children country to country,

those who bargain the price of food,

those who regulate its production,

willingly sink containers full of surplus crop under the sea -

today, the world is theirs.

The world is full of conscienceless savage aliens.

Those who are lustful, stash-away, thieves,

possess a tremendous amount more than necessary,

born with a golden spoon in their mouth

they ride on a golden throne,

rest their feet on a golden pedal,

from underneath of a golden umbrella, lavishly -

used to seeing the subdued outer world - golden throughout,

with the blood-theft of the rest of the world

those who nourish a cream-fed body, petal-soft,

those who milk the fat with the price of

millions of day-labourers misery, sweat out every last drop,

stealing people's equitable share

those who build huge, eye-catching palaces,

those who judge a being his money's worth -

today, the world is theirs.

The world isn't mine.

The world is for beastly warmongers, coerce and vile.

Those who are the protectors of civilisation by their own definition,

a merciless plunderer from behind the knot of necktie,

carry a blissful smile on their masked face

yet in mind nourish a murderer's roaring attack-cry,

those who are egocentric,

traders of arms - the instigators of mass destruction,

those who want the world's wealth in possession by hook or by crook,

who think to be able to snatch away is their birth-right,

those who are economic terrorists -

calculate a hundred taka worth a pound,

those trespassers in the name of the truth

who play with the feelings of mass-in-a-fix

in the name of religion -

today, the world is theirs.

The world is for the rogue, corrupt and cunning.

Those who introduce exclusive laws

for the sake of their alien bunch in the name of humanity,

those who divide humans into ours, theirs,

to homelanders and foreigners,

divide the mother earth with territorial boundaries,

those diabolic who create forced poverty from region to region,

cause deliberate famine -

knowing though in every place of this God forsaken earth

there is an equal howl for food, housing, clothing, education, security and medicine,

that all humans are human beings -

that every single earth-child has an equal right to flourish -

yet those

bastards who seek cheap labour to boost their profit,

bastards who vend a labourer's yield back to him,

bastards who play politics with the distressed,

bastards who let people to die starve of medicine,

bastards who cash in their illicit money in the capitalist market,

the world is theirs today.

In my yard, the world is of poverty forever,

of suffering, neglect and hunger.

the world is not mine. <>


The more you want to subdue,

the more I will be rejuvenated -

for as many times you sentence to death,

a tensile chest, I will appear in front

with a thousand lives,

I will take birth in house to house

a freedom aspiring child -

I will be the thrill of victory

in each heart.

In the dialogues of the wise,

on the table of debates,

during new discoveries and inventions

I will be the words -

I will be the heart-tremoring slogan

in every freedom-seeking revolution,

revolt and demonstration.

The more you try to obliterate my entity

the more tenacious will be my existence.

Each drop of my blood is a seed,

the more you shed -

I will germinate as many,

for as many times you destroy me

I will return a new face -

the more you injure me with humiliation,

abhor, strike over strike,

the more you encage me with lies,

deception and blind faith,

the more you neglect,

I will be the blazing sun that brings a new day,

the more intensely I will glow from sky to sky. <>

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Last modified: May 26, 2003.