Everywhere, Pastures in the fire of a thirsty tree, Get scorched, the nightingales Who perch down, at every dawn and eve On the branches of that tree In the realm of pale hands, Wonders to learn the lore, ‘Booae Booae adaami’ At the sweltering period of the day Now, it is clearing up the fatigued journeys of a camel-man In the heart of this wasteland, Every traveller get a sweet rest under the pure shade of that tree, With the complaint of sweaty weather, Get lit up a sun in the eyes of a lantern And soon enough, the calamity of bloodshed is born As a catalyst for annihilation Sammi’s jasmine flower has not been sprouted by the sweet sound of a prayer And Hannul’s deep dream was not interpreted in the canvas of sobs Now, my sorceries may not enact, because Neither there are aches of a burnt firefly nor songs of a nightingale This poem is an English translation of a poem by Mujib Mujahid Published in Daily Times, April 17th 2018.