July - The Month of Thirty-Six Days

July - The Month of Thirty-Six Days

by

Arman Rashid

My heart is heavy, peace feels far,
A memory burns like a fading star.
One year ago, this very July,
We watched our brothers bleed and die.
The world may count just thirty-one,
But for us, the days were thirty-six long.
Each one written in fire and tears,
Etched with pain, with cries and fears.

A peaceful chant turned into a roar,
Justice knocked on a closing door.
The rulers sent bullets, cold and blind,
To silence truth and break the mind.
Not just students, but parents too,
Labourers joined the marching crew.
Every street became a field of flame,
Yet hope refused to die in shame.

Mughdho, Said, Asif fell—
Their blood still speaks, their spirits dwell.
On August five—or July’s thirty-sixth—
The tyrant’s fall, the dawn was fixed.
We rose, unarmed, but bold in will,
Their guns could kill, but not our thrill.

I never saw the war of '71,
But I’ve faced this fire, I did not run.
For justice, for truth, I raised my voice,
And stood with pride, I made my choice.

One day my child may ask me, “Dad,
Were you afraid, were you ever sad?”
I’ll say, “I stood where heroes bled,
And held the torch they once had held.
You live free now, because they fell—
Their names in fire, we must retell.”

So July cries, and we still hear,
Their silent songs ring sharp and clear.
For thirty-six days, they gave their all—
That we might rise, and never fall.