sullen shine the stars the moon in agony aloof so still stand the palm trees the seasons are bearing my dreams away sanity suspended while all the black horrors of the mind uncoil slowly snakely settle over this land they came by night they came in shame they came to take the weapon and the woman my throat was dry and chilled my groin, for they are taking them away to the slaughter houses have you ever seen a child’s head crushed like a coconut or a proud man cry like a baby women, like broken toys, on the rail tracks to Santahar Junction bright flags fluttering from their thighs does it now matter which side did this or why they were playing these games with death over there in the green lands of Bengal in the year of the lord 1971 oh the storm that raged under the blue Bengal sky within man, and without him, when rape was relief death a desire and killing a kindness. Mama, hide me in your arms, for they are taking them away to the slaughter houses incest in the air foul vapors in every mouth will nobody care to break this awful spell the Major swore he saw rows of what looked like round loaves of brown bread in the Government College dining hall: these were sliced off my sisters; (while they writhed alive in the dormitories above). I’m curled, cursed and cold alone in the night’s chill womb, for they are taking them away to the slaughter houses can all the waters of the Bay all the tears of the Orient wash the red stains and ugly scars of hate inflicted in that single moment of suicide compelled by an irresistible lust for self-destruction when a house is empty the family missing and silence a way of life the nights get chilly the nights get lonely and in the night strong men break down to cry, for they are taking them away to the slaughter houses when Bihari fate was sealed and Bengali destiny designed when the scythe was an argument and the bullet an answer the lords of men gods of pain have taken council: the unholy juggernaut will move it is decreed and none to challenge it what compulsions drive such men what fear makes them such savages while reason, so thin on the breast, deserts so quickly who was martyr which one saint depended only on the language he spoke; to such a fine point is the concept of alienation reduced; for there is no shame like the shame of taking them away to the slaughter houses.