No need to weep for the poet’s passing

Through the dense fog, a sparrow was flying towards the Suhrawardy Udyan. The sparrow flew and perched on a Shirish tree, where a bulbul was sitting. The sparrow told the bulbul, "Listen, the poet is no more."

The news spread throughout the park instantly. The poet, who had a lifelong connection with flowers, birds, trees, vines, love, and rebellion, was no longer there. In sorrow over this loss, all the birds began to cry in unison. The leaves of the trees started to fall like raindrops. The flowers of Shahbagh wilted in a moment. The eyes of the city's people were flooded with tears.

A young man threw his fist at the sky and said, "Now is the best time for youth to join the movement (Ekhon Joubon Jar Michhile Jabar Tar Srestha Somoy)."

A poet wrote on the wall, "The promise was, once I get a flag / I will no longer write poems of pain and sprouting sorrow (Kotha Chhilo Ekti Pataka Pele, Ami Ar Likhbo Na Bedonar Ankurito Kashter Kabita)."

At the neighborhood corner, a street vendor shouted, "Anyone want to take pain, take pain, there’s all kinds of pain, take the pain (Kashto Nebe Kashto, Harek Rokom Kashto Acchhe, Kashto Nebe Kashto?)"

Sitting at the street corner, an unemployed youth groaned, "I wanted to be a king / To make you an empress and expand the empire / But today I see the kingdom is there / The king is there / The desire is there/ only you are in another house (Icchhe Chhilo Raja Hobo, Tomake Samraggyi Kore Samrajjo Barabo, Aj Dekhi Rajjyo Acchhe, Raja Acchhe, Icchhe Acchhe, Shudhu Tumi Onno Ghore)."

A long-absent exiled, unable to return home for many years, sighed deeply while looking at the sky, "How long it's been since I saw you / Are you well? Are you happy? Sister Netrakona (Koto Din Tomake Dekhi Na, Tumi Bhalo Acchho? Sukhe Acchho? Bon Netrakona)."

In this way, with a sigh, and muffled sobs, the sky of Dhaka filled with sorrow. The dense fog carried the news of this sadness across all of Bengal. In every corner of Bengal, in every home, and in every part of nature, the sound of sobbing echoed, "The poet is no more, the poet is no more." Then who will pluck the strings of the veena and echo the words of their hearts? Who will write of their dreams, their struggles, their anger, their sorrow, and their loneliness?

Poet Helal Hafiz is no more, and there’s no need to inform anyone about this news. It spread across all media outlets and social media throughout the day and night on Friday. With just one poetry collection, "The Fire Burns in That Water (Je Jole Agun Jwale)" he reached the pinnacle of fame. In reality, it wasn’t just a poetry book, but a single poem that earned him stardom. The name of that poem was " The Forbidden Editorial (Nishiddho Sampadakiyo), whose first line, that unforgettable slogan, was: “Now is the best time for youth to join the procession.”

The poet wrote this poem in the political context of 1969. At that time, no magazine had the courage to publish the poem. It was then written on the walls of Dhaka University by poets Ahmed Sofa and Humayun Kabir. From then on, Helal Hafiz’s name spread among the rebellious youth like wildfire.

In 1986, poet Helal Hafiz’s first poetry collection, "Je Jole Agun Jwale (The Water Where The Fire Burns ),” was published. This single poetry book catapulted him to the height of fame. After that, he did not publish any more poetry collections for a long time. He remained largely out of the public eye, but his numerous poems continued to circulate among poetry lovers. During that time, poetry recitation cassettes were very popular. Countless reciters performed his numerous poems, and even if people hadn't read his poetry books, many knew the lines of his poems by heart.

After a quarter of a decade, in 2012, his second book, "Kabita Ekattor" ("Poetry 71"), was published. His third and final book, "Bedonake Bolechi Kedo Na (I Told Sorrow, Don't Cry)”, was published in 2019, but these last two poetry collections did not receive much attention.

On Friday afternoon, poet Helal Hafiz bid his final farewell. He had been living in a hostel in Shahbagh with students and working people. It was reported that he had fallen on a basin in the bathroom, causing a fatal head injury. When the hostel staff took him to the hospital, the doctors declared him dead.

The poet who lived his entire life alone passed away alone. In the wake of Helal Hafiz’s death, fellow poet Nirmalendu Goon wrote, "He had a great sense of resentment, and because of that resentment, he lived alone."

We do not know what that resentment was, nor why poet Helal Hafiz remained unmarried throughout his life. With his passing, the literary sky of Bangladesh has been covered in dense fog. He has been paid tribute by the state, but the question arises: why must even a renowned poet die in such isolation in Bangladesh? Why does the state not take responsibility for an elderly poet’s care while he is still alive? Yet, there is no need to cry at the poet’s death, because poets never die!