The enemy is at your gate, laying a gruelling month-long siege,
Savagest of kinsmen, they are coming in numbers from the sea;
Armed with firearms they have thronged the busiest streets,
Hacking off heads of your men, detaining women who were once free.
When the overpowering gloom engulfs everything around,
When all of the flickering hope is gone and the doom is near;
The city gates open and out comes Hector, the hero of our times.
The protector of our lives, the tempest that knows no fear.
The gaping wounds, the bloodstained shield gleams in moonlight
The battered sword, swooping down heavily upon the foe;
Like a herd of cows maddened by the attack of a lion
They retreat to the damned trenches, burying their heads low.
All hail Hector! The noblest of souls. Till he is there….All is not lost
Till he is there….There is hope
Note from the editor: This collaborative piece stemmed from the most uncharacteristic situation. The poet submitted the poem with a photograph taken from the internet. The magazine insists on using original work for publication and hence from a distant and somewhat fortunate acquaintance an artist found a way to complement the poem with his expression. The poem celebrates the essence of a senior member of politburo of Communist Party of India (Marxist), Buddhadeb Bhattacharya, who was also the former Chief Minister of West-Bengal.
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