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Date Written: November 9, 2017

Such a giant hawk, a metal-winged falcon!

How it broke down on the ground suddenly?

Oh poet, why? When did you write such a malicious line,

"April is the cruelest month", why?

Why again, another April erratic monster, have come down

on the evening of the Sixth

in the streets of Kigali, in lanes, in slums,

in churches, even in brothels?

Kagera river swelled in great fury,
hissing, throwing Tutsi blood on the Pigmy land.

Why the cold water of Kivu Lake is hot

with Tutsi blood emptying in Ruzizi river?

Why husbands plant sharp fang

on the lips of their beloved wives instead of warm kisses?

Not the erected penis of love, he inserted naked Machete

inside love-stricken body of Tutsi bride? Why?


Children couldn’t go to school today; the guards watch the streets.

Is a child, a seed of Tutsi blood, hidden under the cassock of priest?

They inspect the faded identity cards with great care, searching for last names,

finding genealogy, checking noses, heights, breasts, hips;

Someone's husband, wife, lover, a young couple in intercourse,

is there a Tutsi in any house, has someone given shelter?

does a shadow of enemy move in the dark lane?

On the streets of Kigali, only slogan roars "Vive Rwanda, Vive"

Is the sleeping volcano of Virunga waking up?

Vibrant violence raised horror threat from the street to people’s hearts,

from the ground to the blue sky, from the mountain to the swamp land,

faster than fastest; the houses are trembling,

trembling blackboards on the classroom, domes of the churches

and loving hearts of Tutsi mothers.


It was April 6, 1994. The sun is down to the west.

Imanna, a Hutu young man, postal clerk, at the end of the day

returned to house. He had dreams in his eyes,
body trembles with carnal desire. His wife, a Tutsi

girl, Rozali, has been waiting, in her eyes orange sun,

wave of sight breaks down in spring evening.

Today, Rosali cooked Umutsima in the oven of love,
She adorned with Isumbe, fried Mizuzu in love furnace.

Imanna eats and being burnt in the flame of Tutsi damsel.

They started making love, felt warmth of each other’s body,

and then Suddenly the sound of lightning burst in a phone rang.

"Listen, there is a bad news, they’ve killed President
Habiarimana. Now you have to get down to work.

Rwanda must be purified, exterminate all the Tutsis,

you must start from your house, go to the kitchen,
take up machete in your hands and kill your Tutsi bride.

Paint your hands in Tutsi blood my friend and raise the slogan,

Vive Rwanda, Vive."

Imanna gasped intensely, "No, please not her, sir. not her.

Rozalie's my wife, I love her."

"Imanna" scolded angrily the other end of the telephone,

In military command he shouted, "She’s enemy, clan of killers.

Listen to me Imanna, behead the witch, clean Hutuland,

they have no right to live in Rwanda."

Rozali followed silently and stood behind him,

She stretches her hands towards Imanna, raises her lips.
In a blow Hutu man threw her on the ground,

the red tip of her forehead disappeared
from the table, the dish of Umutsima has fallen and shattered into fragments

on the ground of Rwandan, spread over mountains,

streets, in the lanes of Kigali,
Imanna ran to the kitchen.

Why the screams of beloved sounds like shouts of a prostitute?

Habiramana, my leader, those who have shed from your body,
pious Hutu blood, I’ll not return without eliminating them.


Hundreds of thousands of Imanna with machete in hand

gathered in the streets, slogan chanting, Vive Rwanda Vive,

Teenager Imanna, youth Imanna, elderly Imanna, executer Imanna,

The highways trembled in the procession of Imannas

Thousands of Imanna roar with weapons in hands

Kigali's sky shook with terror

The blood showered like rain, tears flowing like river.  



Dreadful eyes, tear-bathed

Under the table,

In sealed room, in the stable,

On the road

In the churches, in the shelves,

In the bushes,

Schools, far-away hills,

In the niche,

On the pond rim, cottage-end

By the dock,

On the water, dusty fields

On the wardrobe

Suddenly even under the sofa

On the Road-side

On the gutter, in the dark

In the Library,

Big Stadium, swimming pools,

In the Kitchen,

Beside the hearth, bundle of straw,

Mother’s lap,

In the slums, rich bedrooms,

Love-trade Brothels,

With the lover, in love-knot,

Factory floors,

Even in office, Evening time

Sunny mid day

Under the sun, cruel wrath

Trucks and busses

killers with so much elation

Leaped on them,

Revenge fire flared up.

Clean up quickly Pigmy land

Make Hutu soil unpolluted

Kill Tutsi damsels

Slay Tutsi youth

Slaughter Tutsi even a child
Exterminate cockroaches

Wash our land with the blood

Liberate Hutu habitation

Purify our fatherland.

"Igihozo, Igohozo", a father is screaming

running out here and there, where is my daughter?

My five year old daughter, did anyone see?

The scared people are running to and from.

Helpless father Kamilindi fell down

After the procession hit him

Why does the dust of the Kigali wet?
Why the soil of the Kigali is so red?

Whose blood is this? Igihozo? Igihozo … a thunderstruck father.


Is Rubiro dried up at the Weller's scream!

Death-angels are holding his both hands

in front of his own eyes, his friends, friend’s sons and brothers, neighbours

raped his three daughters and wife.

They grew up together with Kigali’s mud smeared
shared the meal, have eaten each other’s Ugali, so many days

Oh, they raped my daughters, my wife … so important is the cast?

So cruel is love towards the clan?


The black Tutsi woman is running, escaping,

Children, old and young boys are running

Trying to find safe refuge to hide

Is there a safe place to escape, shelter?

In the house of God?

They are running in the dark,

they are running in the light

Tutisi exodus ran towards the churches,

Shall the priest save them? He too a Hutu!

The house of God, has no tribe, no clan, no nationality!

Someone said in confidence!

The processions of caravan ran fast.
Is the enemy jumped on the step by step?

Pastor calls them into the church enclave.


Some of them concealed themselves in the confession room

many sinful deeds showered on the mind from the past

in front of Bethlehem-Youth,

bestow on me mercy, your majesty,

forgive me with your greatness;

God lad, you are not a fool

Isn’t it humanity is above all?


Deaf God of black people are helpless, crucified in dark room.

They come running, broke down the iron door,

the massive dome of church becomes

a huge nude breast of Tutsi woman.

crazy people in uniform leaped, tore up the women's body

machetes are raised, came down, Hutu Jesus bathes in blood.

Scream of children, aged and women,

echoed and rushed into the torn pages of Bible…


Pieces of bread of the last Supper sink in the river of blood.


Today, the name of the most holy temple is Des Mille Collins Hotel

Paul Rusesabagina is Jesus of Rwanda,

Children, aged, women and youth, are looking at the face of Rusesabagina.

The angel descended from the sky,

Took off blue helmet and crawled on the ground,

German stone does not soften at the scream of Auror

The Arian youth pays off the price of love with a bunch of Franc,

From the top descends the racist stairs of heaven,
In the safe sky the European community fly away,
Below, in the darkness of the field of massacre

Undeniable sacrifice of human civilization.

Russesbagina, the Jesus of Ninety four, took up on his bosom
the horror trauma of a sex worker.


Then all the lights of Mille Collines hotel were turned off,
ran out
, Paul poured down the last drop of water
on the mouth of a child.

And Then? And Then?
Seven hundred pairs of eyes stared at God’s eyes.
The Jesus of Mille Collines Hotel, Paul Rusesabagina,

ran towards the swimming pool for water,
the Hutu army has completed all preparations to

record the final demise of the cockroaches.

Seeing Roussebagina running towards water,

they urinate at shameless bluster in the pool,

"What's else the better for cockroaches, Rusesabagina?"

Hutu commander broke into a feral joke,

human wall of Mille Collines shuddered at the wild laughter.


The blood stream of one million people

have come to a halt after a hundred days.

(Translated from original Bangla by Siddique Mahmud)

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No image RWANDA (Translated from Bangla by Siddique Mahmud)
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