By Mohammad Kamal Uddin Yes, I speak as a companion— Do not search for me among names. I am no individual— I am a history, a flame, an eternal blaze. I am the companion—of the blood-soaked February of 1952, Where sons laid down their lives to protect their mother tongue. I am the companion—of Salam, Barkat, Rafiq, Jabbar— Of every drop of their fallen blood, Where the word “Bangla” became not just a language, But the very soul of a nation. I am the companion—of the silent bricks of the Shaheed Minar, Where even today, flowers weep upon being laid, Where every petal whispers— “My brother’s blood has stained this land…” I am the companion—of the Six-Point Movement’s demands, Where the sighs of the deprived first turned into a united voice. I am the companion—of the uprising of 1969, Of the roaring streets, Of the slogans that shattered fear And broke the chains of oppression. I am the companion—of Asad’s blood-stained shirt, Which flew like a flag, Teaching us that sometimes, even death becomes the path to freedom. I am the companion—of the thunderous voice of the 7th of March speech, Where seventy million people awakened in a single call, Where independence became an inevitable destiny. I am the companion—of the dark night of Operation Searchlight, Where a sleeping city was massacred, Where the cries of children and the wails of mothers Pierced the sky.
I am the companion—of the bloodstained dawn of Rajarbagh Police Lines, Where unarmed police refused to bow, Where duty stood taller than life itself. I am the companion—of the birth of independence on the 26th of March, I am the companion—of the call echoed in the voice of Major Ziaur Rahman, Which spread like fire from Chattogram across all of Bengal.
I am the companion—of the immortal dream of Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman,
Who remained free even in captivity, Whose eyes held the future of a nation. I am the companion—of the silent oath of three million martyrs, Who asked for no reward, Only a free map of their homeland. I am the companion—of the voiceless tears of two hundred thousand violated mothers, Witnesses to the greatest sacrifice in history, Whose pain wrote the epic of independence. I am the companion—of the sorrowful December of Intellectual Martyrs’ Day, Where darkness tried to extinguish the light— But they did not know, Light can never be killed. I am the companion—of the victory of the 16th of December, Where a flag rose in pride, Paid for with blood. I am the companion—of the memory of House No. 32, Dhanmondi, Where walls may have fallen, But dreams never did. I am the companion—of India and all those nations Whose humane hands turned this war into their own. I am the companion—of every protest of today, Every pen, every fearless truth spoken, Where no one compromises with injustice. I am the companion—of the soil soaked with a farmer’s sweat, Of dreams built by a laborer’s weary hands, Of a journalist’s fearless questions,
And of that person— Who still stands tall and declares, “I am free.” Yes, I speak as a companion— I am the blood of ’52, I am the demand of ’66, I am the awakening of ’69, I am the fire of ’71, I am the conscience of today. As long as the red and green flag flies in the sky of Bengal, As long as a child utters “Ma” as their first word, My voice will never fall silent— I will keep saying— I am a companion, A companion of truth, A companion of history, A companion of freedom. I am Victory to Bengal, Victory to Bangabandhu— I am a companion. I am the companion of the red and green flag, I will carry it with me, even into my shroud. As a companion, I will forever sing— “My Golden Bengal, I love you.”