I Sing of Heroes

I sing of Heroes -

The youth, the revolutionary,

Who armed with a sharp Excalibur

Today go forth in all directions

With valiant steps and steady

Upon a campaign for the impossible,

The Egyptian Pyramids of Antiquity,

Stand as a chronicle of such campaign,

Heroes whose mere breath

doth drive away into oblivion

The dead leaves of moth-eaten scriptures

Who hew down the haunts and
temples of false gods. .

And the time-honoured ale-house

Of the grand hypocrite

In the person of a reputed Moralist;

Whose mighty streams of. ideal reform

Swept away the long-standing nuisance

The awful and heavy stocks and stones of customs,

The old fossils of dead scriptures.

Those who came fearlessly

To the temple of the unreal

Armed with the stout relentless club,

To break the bondage of 'Maya'

And did with undaunted courage

Strike, by means of mighty hammer

The Chinese walls of superstition.

Those who ploughed the Burial Ground

And pushed away the dead bones

To layout a garden of blooming flowers,

Who now crowd the sea shore of life,

As 'Cynosure of neighbouring eyes'
I sing of Heroes.

Who today march forward

Upon the path of life in tune, with the world

-At dead of night the other day
A passenger who, all alone,
launched his boat
On the dangerous Deep,
Did not return to the shore next morning.
In memory of that fearless adventurer
I shed my tears and write an Elegy
Even today in the stilIness of Night
Even today I keep sleepless night
And sing a song of welcome to him
He who did not return on the morrow
Did indeed take an aerial journey over night,
As a traveller of infinite space
In search of a far-off New World.
The eternal Sentinel at the gate of Death
Trembles in fear of him,
And keeps ever-wakeful vigils.


Those who under the mighty impulse of life

Pursue Death ceaselessly

In the depths of the ocean,

In the boundless sky,

And all over the surface of the Globe,

Those who go down into the Hades

And despoil the palace of Yakshas

of its rare gems,

Who disregarding the nite of the
terrible cobra

Steal the jewel from its head,

Who have controlled the thunder of Bajrapani,

And made the proud lightning,

Daughter of the clouds,

A captive and a maid -

I have come to salute and sing

Of those who are attended by the wind

As an obedient servant

Refreshing them with its balmy breath -

My wailings and lamentations ill all the air for those

Who mount the Scaffold

And the Scaffold itself is tired now

Of hanging them.

And in whose prison,

Behold, the fair Dawn held in fetters

Doth wake up and smile

A flowery smile!

[Ami gai tari gaan; Translation: Abdul Hakim]