# Last Refuge <p>নিশাচর পাখি আমরা, ডানা ভাঙা পড়ে আছি অন্ধকারের বুকে।</p> <p>We are creatures of the night, our wings broken, lying in darkness' breast.</p> <p>দিনের আলো আমাদের ভয় দেখায়, রাত আমাদের শুধু একটি বিশ্রাম নয়— এটি আমাদের সত্তা, আমাদের শ্বাস।</p> <p>Daylight terrifies us, and night is not merely rest— it is our very being, our breath.</p> <p>এই অন্ধকার, এই স্তব্ধতা, এই নিস্তব্ধ মুহূর্তগুলি— এখানেই আমরা নিজেদের খুঁজে পাই।</p> <p>In this darkness, this silence, these mute moments— here we find ourselves.</p> <p>যখন সূর্য ডুবে যায় এবং আলো মিলিয়ে যায়, আমরা জেগে উঠি।</p> <p>When the sun drowns and light surrenders, we awaken.</p> <p>আমাদের আছে শুধু এই রাত, আমাদের শেষ আশ্রয়।</p> <p>We have only this night, our last refuge.</p>

Inside my chest there's a trunk, thirty years old;
take it now, I'm giving it to you—keep it safe.

A lifetime I've hidden this jewel.
Let no one know, no one read it;
today I'm giving it to you.

Let me set down this weight at last,
and inside you'll find a forsaken soul.
Scarred all over by the wrong kind of love.
Day after day, wasted away in hunger,
lips cracked like parched earth in June, burned with thirst.

Hold it close to your heart—
like a tender sapling it will never raise its head,
yet you will stay green.

Place your hand on its forehead,
you'll shudder at the fever clinging there;
no cool compress has ever touched it,
those blood-red eyes have never known a mother's gaze.

All my life I could give it nothing.
Will you keep it with tenderness?
It's so unlucky—
the moment you draw it near
it will spread the hem of faith at your feet.

Twenty-seven thousand three hundred fifty days of struggle,
and still no ground to call its own,
don't send it back again.

If someone ever says once, "I love you,"
the rest of its life it will remain silent there, holding that word.