(for Hasan Azizul Huq)
In shimmering heat I sweated, then slipped
into the cool of a War Museum at RU. Guards
sat around half the day, watching visitors
go from one gallery to another, myself awestruck –
how the seventies turmoil, rapes and killings
during my land’s labour pains came alive
on the things kept, telling what the monsters,
as Qumrul painted them, did. Rifles, exploded
shells
