Poems in this theme
Ethics and Morality
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Rise Up, O Farmer!
Rise Up, O Farmer!
O farmer, where is tile smile of your face?
Where is' your shepherd's bamboo flute'!
Where is your jute?
Who plunders it from your stock on riverside?
Who robs you of huge golden paddy grown in your fields?
The empty corn-bin in your courtyard resembles a husband-less daughter
lamenting in her father's home.
Your rural fields present winter-crops as though painted, why
does your son ask for salt and green chilies while eating?
It seems that the government has taxed on your curry too.
Have your sugar-canes been sweetened by the juice of your tears?
Who have drunk milk exploiting your cow?
Alas, your milk pot docs not hold even the starch of boiled rice.
Your younger child with high fever is healed up,
since he is sleeping in tile graveyard.
And he seems to drag her elder sister towards the grave, too.
The girl is calling him deliriously.
Mother replaces milk will oyster,
father weeps on his way to field burying his son;
around him tile fields are full of paddy and the sky is full of delight.
It seems that today's horizon is red by sucking' a farmer's blood.
Fields overflow with paddy, markets with goods,
the wharps with jute-loaded boats.
Who eats away tile crops of your field,who
are those swarm of locusts?
Why are you so destitute in this realm of merrymaking?
Why does the son of your home go to the grave?
Your cattle grazes in the vast pastures, but you get no milk,
O farmer, your hopes of living have gone away long before,
how do you stand lamentations beside a tomb?
Can't you wake up the burning of thunder in your arid bones?
How long shall you see with eyes wide open the theft by burglars?
Don't you possess a bamboo-stick even?
You may have no blood in your body, yet we want all your bones.
The plunderer robbing you of your boiled rice day
and night has ascended to affluency sucking your blood.
Your bone shall cause the bones of those plunderers decay,
and your rib-bones will turn into war swords.
Allah, the Benevolent, gives water to your fields,
energy to your wind to bloom flowers,
sun and moon rise up to grow your crops, would
those gifts of Allah again be plundered by that demon?
Though the sky is all clear, there is no hope.
Though Khuda's mercy comes in torrents,
you don't reach it. So raise up your hands straight,
that would give you instant strength.
Your crops shall fill your granary, and God shall bless you.
[Original: Otth re chashi; Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]
O farmer, where is tile smile of your face?
Where is' your shepherd's bamboo flute'!
Where is your jute?
Who plunders it from your stock on riverside?
Who robs you of huge golden paddy grown in your fields?
The empty corn-bin in your courtyard resembles a husband-less daughter
lamenting in her father's home.
Your rural fields present winter-crops as though painted, why
does your son ask for salt and green chilies while eating?
It seems that the government has taxed on your curry too.
Have your sugar-canes been sweetened by the juice of your tears?
Who have drunk milk exploiting your cow?
Alas, your milk pot docs not hold even the starch of boiled rice.
Your younger child with high fever is healed up,
since he is sleeping in tile graveyard.
And he seems to drag her elder sister towards the grave, too.
The girl is calling him deliriously.
Mother replaces milk will oyster,
father weeps on his way to field burying his son;
around him tile fields are full of paddy and the sky is full of delight.
It seems that today's horizon is red by sucking' a farmer's blood.
Fields overflow with paddy, markets with goods,
the wharps with jute-loaded boats.
Who eats away tile crops of your field,who
are those swarm of locusts?
Why are you so destitute in this realm of merrymaking?
Why does the son of your home go to the grave?
Your cattle grazes in the vast pastures, but you get no milk,
O farmer, your hopes of living have gone away long before,
how do you stand lamentations beside a tomb?
Can't you wake up the burning of thunder in your arid bones?
How long shall you see with eyes wide open the theft by burglars?
Don't you possess a bamboo-stick even?
You may have no blood in your body, yet we want all your bones.
The plunderer robbing you of your boiled rice day
and night has ascended to affluency sucking your blood.
Your bone shall cause the bones of those plunderers decay,
and your rib-bones will turn into war swords.
Allah, the Benevolent, gives water to your fields,
energy to your wind to bloom flowers,
sun and moon rise up to grow your crops, would
those gifts of Allah again be plundered by that demon?
Though the sky is all clear, there is no hope.
Though Khuda's mercy comes in torrents,
you don't reach it. So raise up your hands straight,
that would give you instant strength.
Your crops shall fill your granary, and God shall bless you.
[Original: Otth re chashi; Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]
565
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Prostitute
Prostitute
Who calls you a prostitute, Mother?
Who spits at you?
Perhaps you were suckled by someone
as chaste as Seeta.
You may not be chaste,
yet you are one of the family
of all our mothers and sisters.
Your sons are like any of us sons,
as capable of achieving fame and honor
as any of us,
as capable of entering heaven.
The great hero Drona
was the son of Ghritachi,
a prostitute in heaven.
Krishna-Daipayan,
who was universally respected,
was the son of an unmarried girl.
Karna the Benevolent
Was born of a maiden.
Ganga, expelled from heaven,
was married to Shiva.
King Shantanu, too,
offered her his love.
Their son was the immortal Bheeshma,
to whom Krishna paid homage!
The Sage Satyakama
was the illegitimate son of Jabala.
The conception of the great lover of humanity, Jesus,
remains a mystery.
None is,stained with sin here,
none is an object of hatred.
Millions of beautiful lilies
blossom in the lake of lust!
Listen to this message of humanity:
After birth, all human beings
are free of all impurities.
Because I have once committed a sin,
have I no right to return to virtue?
Hundreds of sinful acts
did not take away the divineness of the gods.
If Ahalya was freed of sin,
if Mary was canonized,
truthfully, why shouldn't you, too,
be worthy of worship?
Who are the bigots
who condescendingly label your son
as an 'illegitimate' child?
To them I simply ask these questions.
How many of the 1,500 million children
of this world were born
purely out of the purpose of procreation,
and not out of lust?
How many are pure and chaste?
For whose sin do millions of sucklings
die in the cradle?
Purely from carnal urge
do men and women unite.
We are children born of that lust.
Yet how proud we are!
So, listen, religious leaders:
There's no difference between 'illegitimate'
and 'legitimate' children!
And if the son of an unchaste mother is 'illegitimate,'
so is the son of an unchaste father.
[Translation: Sajed Kamal]
Who calls you a prostitute, Mother?
Who spits at you?
Perhaps you were suckled by someone
as chaste as Seeta.
You may not be chaste,
yet you are one of the family
of all our mothers and sisters.
Your sons are like any of us sons,
as capable of achieving fame and honor
as any of us,
as capable of entering heaven.
The great hero Drona
was the son of Ghritachi,
a prostitute in heaven.
Krishna-Daipayan,
who was universally respected,
was the son of an unmarried girl.
Karna the Benevolent
Was born of a maiden.
Ganga, expelled from heaven,
was married to Shiva.
King Shantanu, too,
offered her his love.
Their son was the immortal Bheeshma,
to whom Krishna paid homage!
The Sage Satyakama
was the illegitimate son of Jabala.
The conception of the great lover of humanity, Jesus,
remains a mystery.
None is,stained with sin here,
none is an object of hatred.
Millions of beautiful lilies
blossom in the lake of lust!
Listen to this message of humanity:
After birth, all human beings
are free of all impurities.
Because I have once committed a sin,
have I no right to return to virtue?
Hundreds of sinful acts
did not take away the divineness of the gods.
If Ahalya was freed of sin,
if Mary was canonized,
truthfully, why shouldn't you, too,
be worthy of worship?
Who are the bigots
who condescendingly label your son
as an 'illegitimate' child?
To them I simply ask these questions.
How many of the 1,500 million children
of this world were born
purely out of the purpose of procreation,
and not out of lust?
How many are pure and chaste?
For whose sin do millions of sucklings
die in the cradle?
Purely from carnal urge
do men and women unite.
We are children born of that lust.
Yet how proud we are!
So, listen, religious leaders:
There's no difference between 'illegitimate'
and 'legitimate' children!
And if the son of an unchaste mother is 'illegitimate,'
so is the son of an unchaste father.
[Translation: Sajed Kamal]
867
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Pioneers, O Pioneers
Pioneers, O Pioneers
O you who look so soiled and weary,
Collect your armour for the struggle,
Your rusty shovels, heavy hammers,
To save the earth from dire disaster.
We have no time for sport or revels,
No leisure for procrastinating.
The war's begun in deadly earnest;
We've deeds to plant and crops to harvest.
I see the young on fire and marching
Onward past mountains, vales and rivers,
Unbent and proud man's heritage,
Freedom and honour, in their keeping.
The ancient East, inert, feeble,
A waits a voice to end its slumber.
We will once more awaken, rouse it,
And set it stirring, breathing, moving.
The murky past is dead and buried.
We must emerge from sunless caverns
Into broad uplands bright and shining,
Create a world of newer splendour.
We'll scale the peaks and cross the gorges,
And overcome what risks lie hidden.
We'll fell old trees to build our bridges
And go down in the mines for treasure.
We are awake, no longer sleeping;
We have descended from the plateaus,
Reckless of hungry wounded tigers
And we must move and look not backwards.
We are beholden to those countries,
Egypt and China, Spain and Norway,
Russia, Korea, who have broken
Their age-old chains and savoured freedom.
O Fortune's darlings, I, the poet,
Have nought to offer but my anguish,
My hopes, My dreams, the red blood dripping
From Within my heart beating wildly.
Invoke the gods of ruthless terror,
Shrink not from blood, as green and daring
You must unfurl your country's banner
Armed to the teeth and marching forward.
Listen! beloved fearless children;
Wild beasts and vultures squeak behind you,
And rotting corpses leer, or, frowning,
Earn praise from those who're scared of movement.
Let not these horrors daunt Or frighten;
But torch in hand advance, resistless;
The battlefield is strewn with martyrs
Who died in hundreds faces shining.
The earth is pulsing with a new life,
A tremor coursing through its arteries.
Ours is the strength of many armies;
Our comrades wait in every hamlet.
Sailors and ploughmen, slaves and masters,
Workers and lovers, waifs and prisoners,
Unhappy men who know no laughter-
They too are actors in Our drama.
The day that wanes, the night that follows,
The planets which you see revolving,
Children not born yet, our future soldiers,
They too are bound on this quest endless.
Sisters, awake, your brothers need you
They'll lag behind if you are missing;
Arise and join them, Jet the vanguard
Move forward, rank on rank in order.
I hear the sound of bells announcing
The coming age, when dreams and reveries
Will be fulfilled, and hopes turn rosy,
And we will reach our destination.
We have no use for lifeless knowledge
Stored in thick tomes; We want no false dreams
Or short-lived joys, bejewelled footwear,
Or cushioned thrones, no wealth that's rotten.
We shall survive on bread and water.
And sleep on hard floors, learn to hate those
Who are enslaved by greed, those gluttons;
We will go forward, we the fighters.
Do wipe away your tears, my comrades,
And rest a while if are weary,
Do not lose heart if night is falling,
Our will is firm, our aim is steady.
[Translation: Syed Sajjad Husain]
O you who look so soiled and weary,
Collect your armour for the struggle,
Your rusty shovels, heavy hammers,
To save the earth from dire disaster.
We have no time for sport or revels,
No leisure for procrastinating.
The war's begun in deadly earnest;
We've deeds to plant and crops to harvest.
I see the young on fire and marching
Onward past mountains, vales and rivers,
Unbent and proud man's heritage,
Freedom and honour, in their keeping.
The ancient East, inert, feeble,
A waits a voice to end its slumber.
We will once more awaken, rouse it,
And set it stirring, breathing, moving.
The murky past is dead and buried.
We must emerge from sunless caverns
Into broad uplands bright and shining,
Create a world of newer splendour.
We'll scale the peaks and cross the gorges,
And overcome what risks lie hidden.
We'll fell old trees to build our bridges
And go down in the mines for treasure.
We are awake, no longer sleeping;
We have descended from the plateaus,
Reckless of hungry wounded tigers
And we must move and look not backwards.
We are beholden to those countries,
Egypt and China, Spain and Norway,
Russia, Korea, who have broken
Their age-old chains and savoured freedom.
O Fortune's darlings, I, the poet,
Have nought to offer but my anguish,
My hopes, My dreams, the red blood dripping
From Within my heart beating wildly.
Invoke the gods of ruthless terror,
Shrink not from blood, as green and daring
You must unfurl your country's banner
Armed to the teeth and marching forward.
Listen! beloved fearless children;
Wild beasts and vultures squeak behind you,
And rotting corpses leer, or, frowning,
Earn praise from those who're scared of movement.
Let not these horrors daunt Or frighten;
But torch in hand advance, resistless;
The battlefield is strewn with martyrs
Who died in hundreds faces shining.
The earth is pulsing with a new life,
A tremor coursing through its arteries.
Ours is the strength of many armies;
Our comrades wait in every hamlet.
Sailors and ploughmen, slaves and masters,
Workers and lovers, waifs and prisoners,
Unhappy men who know no laughter-
They too are actors in Our drama.
The day that wanes, the night that follows,
The planets which you see revolving,
Children not born yet, our future soldiers,
They too are bound on this quest endless.
Sisters, awake, your brothers need you
They'll lag behind if you are missing;
Arise and join them, Jet the vanguard
Move forward, rank on rank in order.
I hear the sound of bells announcing
The coming age, when dreams and reveries
Will be fulfilled, and hopes turn rosy,
And we will reach our destination.
We have no use for lifeless knowledge
Stored in thick tomes; We want no false dreams
Or short-lived joys, bejewelled footwear,
Or cushioned thrones, no wealth that's rotten.
We shall survive on bread and water.
And sleep on hard floors, learn to hate those
Who are enslaved by greed, those gluttons;
We will go forward, we the fighters.
Do wipe away your tears, my comrades,
And rest a while if are weary,
Do not lose heart if night is falling,
Our will is firm, our aim is steady.
[Translation: Syed Sajjad Husain]
510
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Pain of the Poor
Pain of the Poor
These children-suffering
from a lack of mother's care,
in rags, their bodies covered with dirt,
faces dried up from starving all day, scornful,
their bodies feverish, skin chapped all over.
They can't even get a meager meal
from laboring all day.
Ignoring them-O Rich, O Ruler,
how can you stand the taste of monda, mithai, khaja?
Starving, when they see you-eating,
they beg silently with their pathetic eyes.
Shame on you!-How do you still go on gorging?
All that rice you store in your binsjust
a portion of it could save them.
You have such a wide variety of clothing;
these children do not have even as much
as the rag you polish your shoes with.
You've trunk loads of clothing,
while these children freeze to death all night long
with their mothers lying in corridors and lanes.
You feel so happy from hugs and kisses
from your children,
their mothers weep holding them in their bosoms.
Your children have no dearth of toys,
their toys are what's been thrown outan
embarrassment for their mothers.
Their unkempt hair, turning brownish and matted,
their skin blackened from roaming about in the sun,
for no reason they get beaten and scolded by people.
Your children cry 'bloody murder' for minor incidents,
whereas they have at most a sombre face
even when their hearts break from sadness.
The mothers of these unfortunate childrenstanding
aloof-who understands how much pain there is
in their tearful eyes?
If there's a slight touch of fever
in your children, ten doctors come rushing to check them.
But for these children-even when they have a high temperature,
there's none to offer them even a sip of water;
reduced to skeletons, they die in their mothers' arms.
They don't eat pomegranates or grapes when they are sick;
they think they have the world
by getting just a piece of sugar candy.
Your children go to sleep in rocking cradles,
these children sleep under the tamarind tree;
even the most stone-hearted aught to be moved to see this.
Nobody understands their misery,
everybody despises them
and thinks, 'Why do they litter the streets?'
So take heed, a burning stomach needs to complain;
I don't wish that even on my enemies. .
Even in such misery,
God will supposedly grant them welfare-that's
the only consolation for the poor.
[Original: Goriber baytha; Translation: Sajed Kamal]
These children-suffering
from a lack of mother's care,
in rags, their bodies covered with dirt,
faces dried up from starving all day, scornful,
their bodies feverish, skin chapped all over.
They can't even get a meager meal
from laboring all day.
Ignoring them-O Rich, O Ruler,
how can you stand the taste of monda, mithai, khaja?
Starving, when they see you-eating,
they beg silently with their pathetic eyes.
Shame on you!-How do you still go on gorging?
All that rice you store in your binsjust
a portion of it could save them.
You have such a wide variety of clothing;
these children do not have even as much
as the rag you polish your shoes with.
You've trunk loads of clothing,
while these children freeze to death all night long
with their mothers lying in corridors and lanes.
You feel so happy from hugs and kisses
from your children,
their mothers weep holding them in their bosoms.
Your children have no dearth of toys,
their toys are what's been thrown outan
embarrassment for their mothers.
Their unkempt hair, turning brownish and matted,
their skin blackened from roaming about in the sun,
for no reason they get beaten and scolded by people.
Your children cry 'bloody murder' for minor incidents,
whereas they have at most a sombre face
even when their hearts break from sadness.
The mothers of these unfortunate childrenstanding
aloof-who understands how much pain there is
in their tearful eyes?
If there's a slight touch of fever
in your children, ten doctors come rushing to check them.
But for these children-even when they have a high temperature,
there's none to offer them even a sip of water;
reduced to skeletons, they die in their mothers' arms.
They don't eat pomegranates or grapes when they are sick;
they think they have the world
by getting just a piece of sugar candy.
Your children go to sleep in rocking cradles,
these children sleep under the tamarind tree;
even the most stone-hearted aught to be moved to see this.
Nobody understands their misery,
everybody despises them
and thinks, 'Why do they litter the streets?'
So take heed, a burning stomach needs to complain;
I don't wish that even on my enemies. .
Even in such misery,
God will supposedly grant them welfare-that's
the only consolation for the poor.
[Original: Goriber baytha; Translation: Sajed Kamal]
632
Kazi Nazrul Islam
O Destitutes!
O Destitutes!
With the curved smile on your tender lips, O crescent, is it a crooked suggestion?
Are you looking for companions to join you to loot every home in desperation?
As if at the command of Allah you are proclaiming from the sky,
O martyrs, why the rich do not pay zakat any more - ask, ask them why?
In surplus of these wealthy and rich, there is definitely a right
of all those hungry and deprived: this is Allah's message, so clear and trite.
Take away their surplus and their undeserving wealth; yes, take away!
You will be fulfilling a divine command, who stands in the way?
Why are you like living dead, imprisoned by powerlessness or decrepitude,
The plate of food rests close to you, yet why embracing death in hunger is your
attitude?
Have you no courage to extend your hand! Is your hand disabled or feeble?
I am, the bandit, here to collect the poor-due; get up and join me, don't quibble!
I have brought the message of Allah through the Eid's crescent that shines above,
We will break our fast with all those treasured surplus during this Ramadan - a month
we all love.
Everyone will eat and satisfy their hunger during this Eid celebration,
Don't despair and resign; rather loot your share of the blessings of God in rightful
jubilation.
[Original: Sharbohara (eid) by Kazi Nazrul Islam; Translation: Mohammad Omar
Farooq]
With the curved smile on your tender lips, O crescent, is it a crooked suggestion?
Are you looking for companions to join you to loot every home in desperation?
As if at the command of Allah you are proclaiming from the sky,
O martyrs, why the rich do not pay zakat any more - ask, ask them why?
In surplus of these wealthy and rich, there is definitely a right
of all those hungry and deprived: this is Allah's message, so clear and trite.
Take away their surplus and their undeserving wealth; yes, take away!
You will be fulfilling a divine command, who stands in the way?
Why are you like living dead, imprisoned by powerlessness or decrepitude,
The plate of food rests close to you, yet why embracing death in hunger is your
attitude?
Have you no courage to extend your hand! Is your hand disabled or feeble?
I am, the bandit, here to collect the poor-due; get up and join me, don't quibble!
I have brought the message of Allah through the Eid's crescent that shines above,
We will break our fast with all those treasured surplus during this Ramadan - a month
we all love.
Everyone will eat and satisfy their hunger during this Eid celebration,
Don't despair and resign; rather loot your share of the blessings of God in rightful
jubilation.
[Original: Sharbohara (eid) by Kazi Nazrul Islam; Translation: Mohammad Omar
Farooq]
489
Kazi Nazrul Islam
My Prophet Mohammad
My Prophet Mohammad
Syed Makki Madani,
he is my prophet Mohammad.
The friend of God, full of kindness,
he is the dearly beloved of all.
Adam, Noah, Abraham, David,
Solomon, Moses and Jesus
all bear witness to his glory.
Over all their message
prevails the message revealed
to my prophet.
In him the world glimpsed
the hint of God's flaming light
It was he who brought to this sinful world
a foretaste of Heaven's delight.
In vain did Alexander seek
to find on this earth the nectar of Paradise.
My prophet freely distributed the same
in the assembly of mankind.
For nothing did Zuleikha lose her head
when she met the beautiful Yusuf.
Had she seen my prophet
gladly would she have renounced the world!
If David could hear
the honeyed words of my prophet
surely he would have prayed for his advice.
Noah's ark did not sink
only because it had my prophet's blessings.
Jonah, swallowed by the whale at sea,
continued to live,
and Nimrod's fire failed to kill Abraham,
only because my prophet showered on them both
his gracious blessings.
I for one have drunk deep the Quran's nectar
Hell I have made for ever harman for me!
[Original: Syed Makki Madni; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
Syed Makki Madani,
he is my prophet Mohammad.
The friend of God, full of kindness,
he is the dearly beloved of all.
Adam, Noah, Abraham, David,
Solomon, Moses and Jesus
all bear witness to his glory.
Over all their message
prevails the message revealed
to my prophet.
In him the world glimpsed
the hint of God's flaming light
It was he who brought to this sinful world
a foretaste of Heaven's delight.
In vain did Alexander seek
to find on this earth the nectar of Paradise.
My prophet freely distributed the same
in the assembly of mankind.
For nothing did Zuleikha lose her head
when she met the beautiful Yusuf.
Had she seen my prophet
gladly would she have renounced the world!
If David could hear
the honeyed words of my prophet
surely he would have prayed for his advice.
Noah's ark did not sink
only because it had my prophet's blessings.
Jonah, swallowed by the whale at sea,
continued to live,
and Nimrod's fire failed to kill Abraham,
only because my prophet showered on them both
his gracious blessings.
I for one have drunk deep the Quran's nectar
Hell I have made for ever harman for me!
[Original: Syed Makki Madni; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
779
Kazi Nazrul Islam
My Explanation
My Explanation
I am a poet of today, not a prophet of a future day,
Poet or worthless, call me whatever, I put up with anything you say.
Some say, to the future you belong,
Your place, as a poet, tomorrow will come along.
How come you lack message enduring like that emanates from Rabi's hand?
I am blamed, but I wont' quit playing rising sun's music band.
My fellow poets are disappointed, they read my works and sigh,
Saying: the good one is becoming no good, as he can't say to politics good-bye.
Does not read a book - finished is this chap!
Some say: His wife has brought, indeed, all this mishap!
Some say: The fat one is spoiled, playing cards - non-stop - in the jail,
Others say: You were better there; toward jail again you should sail!
Mentor says: You're no good, except shaving using a sword!
Every Saturday my lover's letter conveys me, 'Nothing useful in you is stored.'
I say: Honey, shall I reveal the secret?
Letters stop in a hurry; not one more I get.
Sacrificing everything, I got married: Hindus say, 'Get lost'!
Am I Muslim or a heathen? Where is my pigtail or beard, or the hem of loin-cloth?
All the goody-searching priests or Mollahs wave their hands and pronounce:
This one invokes names of deities; this rogue one we must denounce!
Hear the Fatwa: Kafir is this Kazi; nothing else,
Even though he wants martyrdom, or so he tells!
Some scripture we know, and we still earn our livelihood!
Hindus detest my use of Persian words saying: from us, this guy deserves no good!
No one is happy with me; the disciples of non-violence? of course, not!
I am blamed I play the violin of violence; I get the revolutionaries' hot heads even
more hot.
The revolutionaries say: This one is non-violent,
My songs deal with spinning wheels: they resent.
Top Brahmins find me atheist, lesser ones regard me as one of the Confucians;
Independence lovers don't accept me; their opponents prefer me to be with those
Europeans!
Men think I am a feminist; women, however, think otherwise,
I never went to England; I am worthless in my expatriate friends' eyes!
My admirers see me as Rabi of new age,
If not of new age, at least a poet of these trendy days!
I hear all these, bemused; exercise for a stronger heart,
Lie down with eyeglasses on; sleeping through the day is my life's part.
I don't know what I write; Do I even understand anything of my own?
I couldn't raise my hand in protest, so I write with my head down.
Dear friends, I did not find appreciation in you,
but my name shines in government's list in lieu.
Honoring my works as invaluable, without value people take it.
Have you heard anything else? Be careful, may not be far a government spy's pit!
Friends, you have seen me engrossed in my own mind's temple,
I rebuke and admonish my mind, but bringing it under control I wish were so simple!
Every time I chain itself, somehow it escapes free
I beat it, and the same I repeat, to complete my victory,
I wish this mad mind would listen to me, but even to Rabi or Gandhi, it did not listen,
Abruptly it wakes up and then wanders in the jungle's darkness in search of roaring
tigers that glisten.
I say, O this insane one, you are doing so great in the community,
You are already a half-leader; but if you lose this opportunity,
would you ever be a full leader,
and weep with the crowd as a speaker?
Pick up the fish in the net now, O fool, before it slips away, I bet!
Take this break to get your leaky house fixed, otherwise soon you will regret.
Who understands that this minstrel's mind roams around singing and reciting!
This name hardly rings any bell; Days are passed chewing Betel leaves, ah, a taste so
inviting!
May be some day there won't be any more of epidemic of malaria,
Especially, since the autonomy is coming in its full pomp and euphoria.
Yes, we want moon, but those hapless ones cherish a meal, as teardrops of their little
ones dribble,
The agonized mother shouts: Hush, you miserables! See, independence is coming - no
more quibble!
But those hungry kids can't care less about autonomy; their desire: a little salt and
some rice,
Ah! the hour is late; nothing they have nibbled yet; the flame of hunger seeks no
advice.
When I hear that cry, my insane mind charges in a rush,
My intoxication for autonomy seeks shelter merely in my dream's brush!
I say, bemoaning: O God, are you still there? Why are they not, then,
Humiliated or destroyed, those who suck the blood of these children?
We all know, to bring independence, those lofty slogans we have devised,
And, at the same time, how burning hunger of so many million children, we have
compromised!
So much money was raised, but independence still remained a dream,
as the hungry people can't pay enough, they are so weak even to scream!
When a baby is snatched away from the mother's bosom, we plead, O royal tiger,
please eat grass!
The mother keeps begging from door to door, while in her shack hiding the baby's
carcass.
My friends, I can't say any more; my mind feels so much agony and pain,
I have gone mad; now, I utter whatever my mouth throws out in disdain.
My own blood won't make much difference,
With blood-ink I keep writing, hence,
My head can't forbear robust ideas or big thought any more; so agonized is this mortal,
All those who are in peace and happiness, it's your privilege to write epics immortal.
I don't care any more, if I live or don't, when gone is this trendy sensation,
Rabi is shining above our head, and then there are you, the golden generation.
Those who usurp the morsel of three hundred thirty million people: let our prayer keep
brewin',
In my blood-ink writing, may it be engraved and sealed their utter ruin.
[Original: Bengali, Translator: Dr. Mohammad Omar Farooq ]
I am a poet of today, not a prophet of a future day,
Poet or worthless, call me whatever, I put up with anything you say.
Some say, to the future you belong,
Your place, as a poet, tomorrow will come along.
How come you lack message enduring like that emanates from Rabi's hand?
I am blamed, but I wont' quit playing rising sun's music band.
My fellow poets are disappointed, they read my works and sigh,
Saying: the good one is becoming no good, as he can't say to politics good-bye.
Does not read a book - finished is this chap!
Some say: His wife has brought, indeed, all this mishap!
Some say: The fat one is spoiled, playing cards - non-stop - in the jail,
Others say: You were better there; toward jail again you should sail!
Mentor says: You're no good, except shaving using a sword!
Every Saturday my lover's letter conveys me, 'Nothing useful in you is stored.'
I say: Honey, shall I reveal the secret?
Letters stop in a hurry; not one more I get.
Sacrificing everything, I got married: Hindus say, 'Get lost'!
Am I Muslim or a heathen? Where is my pigtail or beard, or the hem of loin-cloth?
All the goody-searching priests or Mollahs wave their hands and pronounce:
This one invokes names of deities; this rogue one we must denounce!
Hear the Fatwa: Kafir is this Kazi; nothing else,
Even though he wants martyrdom, or so he tells!
Some scripture we know, and we still earn our livelihood!
Hindus detest my use of Persian words saying: from us, this guy deserves no good!
No one is happy with me; the disciples of non-violence? of course, not!
I am blamed I play the violin of violence; I get the revolutionaries' hot heads even
more hot.
The revolutionaries say: This one is non-violent,
My songs deal with spinning wheels: they resent.
Top Brahmins find me atheist, lesser ones regard me as one of the Confucians;
Independence lovers don't accept me; their opponents prefer me to be with those
Europeans!
Men think I am a feminist; women, however, think otherwise,
I never went to England; I am worthless in my expatriate friends' eyes!
My admirers see me as Rabi of new age,
If not of new age, at least a poet of these trendy days!
I hear all these, bemused; exercise for a stronger heart,
Lie down with eyeglasses on; sleeping through the day is my life's part.
I don't know what I write; Do I even understand anything of my own?
I couldn't raise my hand in protest, so I write with my head down.
Dear friends, I did not find appreciation in you,
but my name shines in government's list in lieu.
Honoring my works as invaluable, without value people take it.
Have you heard anything else? Be careful, may not be far a government spy's pit!
Friends, you have seen me engrossed in my own mind's temple,
I rebuke and admonish my mind, but bringing it under control I wish were so simple!
Every time I chain itself, somehow it escapes free
I beat it, and the same I repeat, to complete my victory,
I wish this mad mind would listen to me, but even to Rabi or Gandhi, it did not listen,
Abruptly it wakes up and then wanders in the jungle's darkness in search of roaring
tigers that glisten.
I say, O this insane one, you are doing so great in the community,
You are already a half-leader; but if you lose this opportunity,
would you ever be a full leader,
and weep with the crowd as a speaker?
Pick up the fish in the net now, O fool, before it slips away, I bet!
Take this break to get your leaky house fixed, otherwise soon you will regret.
Who understands that this minstrel's mind roams around singing and reciting!
This name hardly rings any bell; Days are passed chewing Betel leaves, ah, a taste so
inviting!
May be some day there won't be any more of epidemic of malaria,
Especially, since the autonomy is coming in its full pomp and euphoria.
Yes, we want moon, but those hapless ones cherish a meal, as teardrops of their little
ones dribble,
The agonized mother shouts: Hush, you miserables! See, independence is coming - no
more quibble!
But those hungry kids can't care less about autonomy; their desire: a little salt and
some rice,
Ah! the hour is late; nothing they have nibbled yet; the flame of hunger seeks no
advice.
When I hear that cry, my insane mind charges in a rush,
My intoxication for autonomy seeks shelter merely in my dream's brush!
I say, bemoaning: O God, are you still there? Why are they not, then,
Humiliated or destroyed, those who suck the blood of these children?
We all know, to bring independence, those lofty slogans we have devised,
And, at the same time, how burning hunger of so many million children, we have
compromised!
So much money was raised, but independence still remained a dream,
as the hungry people can't pay enough, they are so weak even to scream!
When a baby is snatched away from the mother's bosom, we plead, O royal tiger,
please eat grass!
The mother keeps begging from door to door, while in her shack hiding the baby's
carcass.
My friends, I can't say any more; my mind feels so much agony and pain,
I have gone mad; now, I utter whatever my mouth throws out in disdain.
My own blood won't make much difference,
With blood-ink I keep writing, hence,
My head can't forbear robust ideas or big thought any more; so agonized is this mortal,
All those who are in peace and happiness, it's your privilege to write epics immortal.
I don't care any more, if I live or don't, when gone is this trendy sensation,
Rabi is shining above our head, and then there are you, the golden generation.
Those who usurp the morsel of three hundred thirty million people: let our prayer keep
brewin',
In my blood-ink writing, may it be engraved and sealed their utter ruin.
[Original: Bengali, Translator: Dr. Mohammad Omar Farooq ]
603
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Make Islam strong, O God!
Make Islam strong, O God!
Make Islam strong, O God,
let the Muslim world again prosper.
Give it back its sultanate of old,
its ancient prowess and generous soul.
Once again bless Islam
with heroic Ali's sharp-edged Zulfiquar,
give it back its old Caliphs and hashmat,
its glorious Medina and Baghdad.
Bless it with Hamza and the mighty Walid,
give it back its Omar and its Harun-a!-Rashid,
bless it again with a noble Salahuddin,
let once more a holy war be waged
against this sinful world.
Give Islam again its Roomi and Saadi and Hafiz,
once more bless it with Khayyam and Tabriz,
give it again its Akbar and its Shahjehan,
bless it again with that dream in white marble,
the Tajmahal!
Give it a sense of fellow-feeling and unity,
its spirit of self-sacrifice and heroic mind,
let the Muslims of the world form a single community,
let its crescent-bedecked flag fly once again
in the sky.
[Original: Taufiq dao khoda islame; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
Make Islam strong, O God,
let the Muslim world again prosper.
Give it back its sultanate of old,
its ancient prowess and generous soul.
Once again bless Islam
with heroic Ali's sharp-edged Zulfiquar,
give it back its old Caliphs and hashmat,
its glorious Medina and Baghdad.
Bless it with Hamza and the mighty Walid,
give it back its Omar and its Harun-a!-Rashid,
bless it again with a noble Salahuddin,
let once more a holy war be waged
against this sinful world.
Give Islam again its Roomi and Saadi and Hafiz,
once more bless it with Khayyam and Tabriz,
give it again its Akbar and its Shahjehan,
bless it again with that dream in white marble,
the Tajmahal!
Give it a sense of fellow-feeling and unity,
its spirit of self-sacrifice and heroic mind,
let the Muslims of the world form a single community,
let its crescent-bedecked flag fly once again
in the sky.
[Original: Taufiq dao khoda islame; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
542
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Kings and Subjects
Kings and Subjects
I am the bard of equality.
At the crossroads I sing,
Where pity and sympathy
Have made us all comrades and brother
It is a simple question,
We are all children of this earth,
But can you tell me
Why are some kings, rolling in luxury
And some subjects, starving in gutters?
But it is a queer philosophy,
If I state this simple truth
I am charged with sedition.
The subject can turn a traitor as simply as that.
But whom shall I ask
Why a king should not be condemned
As a traitor to the people
For his thousand crimes and follies
It is the people who create kings
And not the kings the people
Is that the reason
Why the king tortures the people?
Is that the way
They express their gratitude?
How can you smile, friend?
We are only coolies and servants
In our own home and land.
We have given up our manliness,
Our strength, and power.
And what have we got?
Rendered eunuchs we are guarding today
The lascivious harem of the tyrant king.
Whom shall I relate to
This sad and tragic tale?
In our Own land we are the ruled and the oppressed.
Those who make up the very country
Have no right in it
While the rulers enjoy,
The people remain starved and hungry.
Whom shall I complain to
Of this grievous injustice?
All around we hear the sycophants crying
'God save the king, Glory to him',
We the people are always judged.
Is there no Hall of Justice for the kings and the
monarchs?
The war-drums sound deafeningly
And the country's youth rush
To the battle-field to die with smiles on their lips.
But the tender and loving hearts, losing their dear
ones,
Weep bitter tears at home.
And the ravens fly over their roofs.
The royal road is ready..
The victorious chariot will soon pass by
Rejoice, O Citizens!
Have not your sons come back?
Did not your brothers return? Are your husbands dead?
Why weep for them? They sleep in the lap
Of the Goddess of victory.
A dark shadow of gloom and grief
Envelopes the country today,
God save the King, glory to him?
Rejoice, O Citizens,
For the king has come out of his fort today
After so many days.
The King's chariot is flying fast,
Trampling under the wheels
The returned heroes,
Trampling underneath
The brave crippled soldiers and the glorious dead.
O the one-armed and the one-legged
Soldiers of the King,
Keep off the roads and move away
If you want to save your lives today.
Well, friend,
That is exactly what happens,
The people fight and win the battles
And sing the King's praises,
The people provide their rulers
With food and apparel.
The people serve the king with devotion and humility
Only to be rewarded like this.
Isn't that a queer justice, friend?
We have to bow down and make obeisance
To the servants who are paid from our money.
Come, O you all, and have a look
At those glorious Public Servants of our land.
The wheels of Time revolve,
And yet here in our country
Over millions of men
Rule a hundred thieves.
It is no wishful thinking,
Nor is the day very far
When all the kings of the world
Will, in unison, sing
The People's Victory.
[Original: Raja-Proja; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
I am the bard of equality.
At the crossroads I sing,
Where pity and sympathy
Have made us all comrades and brother
It is a simple question,
We are all children of this earth,
But can you tell me
Why are some kings, rolling in luxury
And some subjects, starving in gutters?
But it is a queer philosophy,
If I state this simple truth
I am charged with sedition.
The subject can turn a traitor as simply as that.
But whom shall I ask
Why a king should not be condemned
As a traitor to the people
For his thousand crimes and follies
It is the people who create kings
And not the kings the people
Is that the reason
Why the king tortures the people?
Is that the way
They express their gratitude?
How can you smile, friend?
We are only coolies and servants
In our own home and land.
We have given up our manliness,
Our strength, and power.
And what have we got?
Rendered eunuchs we are guarding today
The lascivious harem of the tyrant king.
Whom shall I relate to
This sad and tragic tale?
In our Own land we are the ruled and the oppressed.
Those who make up the very country
Have no right in it
While the rulers enjoy,
The people remain starved and hungry.
Whom shall I complain to
Of this grievous injustice?
All around we hear the sycophants crying
'God save the king, Glory to him',
We the people are always judged.
Is there no Hall of Justice for the kings and the
monarchs?
The war-drums sound deafeningly
And the country's youth rush
To the battle-field to die with smiles on their lips.
But the tender and loving hearts, losing their dear
ones,
Weep bitter tears at home.
And the ravens fly over their roofs.
The royal road is ready..
The victorious chariot will soon pass by
Rejoice, O Citizens!
Have not your sons come back?
Did not your brothers return? Are your husbands dead?
Why weep for them? They sleep in the lap
Of the Goddess of victory.
A dark shadow of gloom and grief
Envelopes the country today,
God save the King, glory to him?
Rejoice, O Citizens,
For the king has come out of his fort today
After so many days.
The King's chariot is flying fast,
Trampling under the wheels
The returned heroes,
Trampling underneath
The brave crippled soldiers and the glorious dead.
O the one-armed and the one-legged
Soldiers of the King,
Keep off the roads and move away
If you want to save your lives today.
Well, friend,
That is exactly what happens,
The people fight and win the battles
And sing the King's praises,
The people provide their rulers
With food and apparel.
The people serve the king with devotion and humility
Only to be rewarded like this.
Isn't that a queer justice, friend?
We have to bow down and make obeisance
To the servants who are paid from our money.
Come, O you all, and have a look
At those glorious Public Servants of our land.
The wheels of Time revolve,
And yet here in our country
Over millions of men
Rule a hundred thieves.
It is no wishful thinking,
Nor is the day very far
When all the kings of the world
Will, in unison, sing
The People's Victory.
[Original: Raja-Proja; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
617
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Irrepressible Youth
Irrepressible Youth
O restless and impetuous youth!
Who hid thy face with the mask of wisdom
And clothed thee with the apparel of patience?
All the morality-mongers advise restraint
For the arrogant power of youth
Only to hide their own inner fears.
O thou impetuous! Who fettered thy flying wings?
Fearless youth! Thou, who from the crowd
Of begging weaklings, used to snatch light
Out of the womb of darkness, dost rest today
In thy nest,
How couldst thou check
Thy terrific onrush of life at the bidding
Of those whose spine is broken by
The cold touch of the polar wind and
Whose life is made powerless by the shadow of
hardened frost.
How strange to see the lion of the desert
Meekly enter the cage and submit to punishment!
Those who to want create to and yet are afraid to destroy
Are themselves victims of destruction first.
What fool says that thou canst kindle the fire
Without burning firewood? How
Canst thou get the shade of the forest
If the seed does not supply the life?
The swift flowing river as it rushes madly on
Impelled by its richness of life erodes the
two banks
And yet, at the same time, makes the flowers blossom.
She is thirsty for the sea and knows not
Who is her friend or foe. She cares
Not how many boats she sinks. All she
Wants is ever to be on the move, for that is
Her religion, Who ever heard that the breakers
Of the sea quietly slept lest two merchant ships sank?
Will not the elephant walk on the roads
Lest it tramples an ant under its feet?
Will not the mighty fire burn lest
It destroys healths and homes?
Will the sight of gaping, tattered roofs
Make the rains cease its heavy downpour?
Will the summer storms fail to come
Lest the trees in the woods tumble arid break?
Will there be no eagle because the timid
Baby-Lamb might take fright at his sight ?
O uncalculating youth,
Thou dost never waste thy time making out
The balance sheet of loss and gain !
O tempestuous youth, wake up!
Come like a tornado, trampling everything that falls
In front of thee, in causeless glee.
Bring generous life, wide as the horizons,
And a mighty current of motion strong enough
To wash tile debris off the banks
In a wild rush.
Embrace sorrow with a stout heart
And laugh loudly with frankness and joy.
Freedom will come later, but sing now
Of the fresh and the young. Untimely and
Ugly sickness has attacked the kingdom of youth.
This nation is inert as the dead
Long before its real decease. Open the iron door
And let joy unbounded flow
Like the smooth easy flight of the pigeons
In the blue firmament. Rush into the ocean
For no reason and climb the peak
Of that distant hill! If thou meetest
Death round the corner, embrace him as thy comrade.
Get rid of all the prejudices that reside
Inside thy heart and outside of thee, All the swords
Of Ali are rusted today and gone to seed!
[Original: Durbar joubon; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
O restless and impetuous youth!
Who hid thy face with the mask of wisdom
And clothed thee with the apparel of patience?
All the morality-mongers advise restraint
For the arrogant power of youth
Only to hide their own inner fears.
O thou impetuous! Who fettered thy flying wings?
Fearless youth! Thou, who from the crowd
Of begging weaklings, used to snatch light
Out of the womb of darkness, dost rest today
In thy nest,
How couldst thou check
Thy terrific onrush of life at the bidding
Of those whose spine is broken by
The cold touch of the polar wind and
Whose life is made powerless by the shadow of
hardened frost.
How strange to see the lion of the desert
Meekly enter the cage and submit to punishment!
Those who to want create to and yet are afraid to destroy
Are themselves victims of destruction first.
What fool says that thou canst kindle the fire
Without burning firewood? How
Canst thou get the shade of the forest
If the seed does not supply the life?
The swift flowing river as it rushes madly on
Impelled by its richness of life erodes the
two banks
And yet, at the same time, makes the flowers blossom.
She is thirsty for the sea and knows not
Who is her friend or foe. She cares
Not how many boats she sinks. All she
Wants is ever to be on the move, for that is
Her religion, Who ever heard that the breakers
Of the sea quietly slept lest two merchant ships sank?
Will not the elephant walk on the roads
Lest it tramples an ant under its feet?
Will not the mighty fire burn lest
It destroys healths and homes?
Will the sight of gaping, tattered roofs
Make the rains cease its heavy downpour?
Will the summer storms fail to come
Lest the trees in the woods tumble arid break?
Will there be no eagle because the timid
Baby-Lamb might take fright at his sight ?
O uncalculating youth,
Thou dost never waste thy time making out
The balance sheet of loss and gain !
O tempestuous youth, wake up!
Come like a tornado, trampling everything that falls
In front of thee, in causeless glee.
Bring generous life, wide as the horizons,
And a mighty current of motion strong enough
To wash tile debris off the banks
In a wild rush.
Embrace sorrow with a stout heart
And laugh loudly with frankness and joy.
Freedom will come later, but sing now
Of the fresh and the young. Untimely and
Ugly sickness has attacked the kingdom of youth.
This nation is inert as the dead
Long before its real decease. Open the iron door
And let joy unbounded flow
Like the smooth easy flight of the pigeons
In the blue firmament. Rush into the ocean
For no reason and climb the peak
Of that distant hill! If thou meetest
Death round the corner, embrace him as thy comrade.
Get rid of all the prejudices that reside
Inside thy heart and outside of thee, All the swords
Of Ali are rusted today and gone to seed!
[Original: Durbar joubon; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
594
Kazi Nazrul Islam
In Salutation of One God
In Salutation of One God
Let them spread jealousy, prejudice and defamation,
We will offer justice, peace and one God's proclamation.
Let them seek narrowness, pigeon-hole and mud from pond,
We will seek open space, shining light and love's bond.
Let them seek slave's life, we seek martyr's honor,
They fear death; while we search - it's hiding in which corner?
They won't die; if battle starts, they will hide behind a bush,
Nail-less, toothless - still boisterous, busy in giving each other a push.
They are lifeless, yet move by vile selfishness and greed,
They are jinns, ghosts, or mummies, from base desires can't be freed.
We are the new youth of Bengal; to wrestle with death we enjoy,
Due to grace we spare them, thinking them as ant or toy.
They are ever-skeptical about everything, also about human progress in future,
These disbelievers are disciples of Satan; pessimism and wrong vision they nurture.
They say, people will all be atheist, and anarchy is what they will bring,
We say, they will be believers, so that the song of heavenly bond they will sing.
Let them seek unhappiness, we will seek His forgiveness and love,
Let the ghosts seek graveyards, we will cherish the Garden from above.
People can see west's world wars, as punishment inflicted from Him,
And then turn away from more selfishness, singing peace and justice's hymn.
Let the owls stay in their hole, expecting no more sunrise,
Crows won't attack them again, let it be their claw-and-beak's demise.
Believers never say such things, they seek ray of hope and light,
Standing up against oppression and suffering, the believers delight.
The believers say, if we all turned toward Him in unison,
Shower of His mercy will bring on this earth like daily Eid celebration.
From seven heavens these believers want to bring colorful rainbow,
God never withholds His bounties; When does He ever say 'No? '
Those who seek mischief and unhappiness, exactly that they will get,
Let them choose as they wish; on the path of our choice our foot will set.
They seek the kingdom of monsters, we want God's kingdom,
This world then would experience peace, joy and freedom.
Our Lord's treasure is ever full, we won't lack anything anymore,
They want to fight over corpses like vultures or wild boar.
May God save us all, so that we don't tread that path of doom,
One God is our Lord, His everlasting beauty you always see abloom.
All the vices in this world, let it disappear, let it go away,
This world's darkness and hatred, may the ray of His love keep at bay.
From all the narrowness and prejudice may mankind's heart be free,
Let His light shine from every home under every blooming tree.
Those foster riot to loot, they are greedy monsters or gangsters,
Path of goodness and virtue they won't see, they will bring only disasters.
They are ever after vice, they are ever after conflict,
Their life is devoid of rhythm, they are spoiled, corpse-addict.
By God's soldiers, they will surely be overcome, in future that is near
These pirates - plunderer of crops and harvests - are ever so familiar.
They are spiders, creatures of darkness; stay away from their home and den,
In abandoned corners lie their web, they haven't seen life's vibrant garden.
Believe in God, in one and only God, in day as well as night
Heavenly ride will be with you, with God's sword in hand to fight.
Those who want to pass their life in sleep and laziness' fashion,
They don't want moon or sun, they are living dead, bound for humiliation.
Whose dream is everlasting youth, come, come that new generation,
Your sacrifice and work brought progress that are worthy of celebration.
Let them enjoy mud-slinging, their weapons are malice and vilification,
We will throw bouquet at them, and trumpet to one God our salutation.
[Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]
Let them spread jealousy, prejudice and defamation,
We will offer justice, peace and one God's proclamation.
Let them seek narrowness, pigeon-hole and mud from pond,
We will seek open space, shining light and love's bond.
Let them seek slave's life, we seek martyr's honor,
They fear death; while we search - it's hiding in which corner?
They won't die; if battle starts, they will hide behind a bush,
Nail-less, toothless - still boisterous, busy in giving each other a push.
They are lifeless, yet move by vile selfishness and greed,
They are jinns, ghosts, or mummies, from base desires can't be freed.
We are the new youth of Bengal; to wrestle with death we enjoy,
Due to grace we spare them, thinking them as ant or toy.
They are ever-skeptical about everything, also about human progress in future,
These disbelievers are disciples of Satan; pessimism and wrong vision they nurture.
They say, people will all be atheist, and anarchy is what they will bring,
We say, they will be believers, so that the song of heavenly bond they will sing.
Let them seek unhappiness, we will seek His forgiveness and love,
Let the ghosts seek graveyards, we will cherish the Garden from above.
People can see west's world wars, as punishment inflicted from Him,
And then turn away from more selfishness, singing peace and justice's hymn.
Let the owls stay in their hole, expecting no more sunrise,
Crows won't attack them again, let it be their claw-and-beak's demise.
Believers never say such things, they seek ray of hope and light,
Standing up against oppression and suffering, the believers delight.
The believers say, if we all turned toward Him in unison,
Shower of His mercy will bring on this earth like daily Eid celebration.
From seven heavens these believers want to bring colorful rainbow,
God never withholds His bounties; When does He ever say 'No? '
Those who seek mischief and unhappiness, exactly that they will get,
Let them choose as they wish; on the path of our choice our foot will set.
They seek the kingdom of monsters, we want God's kingdom,
This world then would experience peace, joy and freedom.
Our Lord's treasure is ever full, we won't lack anything anymore,
They want to fight over corpses like vultures or wild boar.
May God save us all, so that we don't tread that path of doom,
One God is our Lord, His everlasting beauty you always see abloom.
All the vices in this world, let it disappear, let it go away,
This world's darkness and hatred, may the ray of His love keep at bay.
From all the narrowness and prejudice may mankind's heart be free,
Let His light shine from every home under every blooming tree.
Those foster riot to loot, they are greedy monsters or gangsters,
Path of goodness and virtue they won't see, they will bring only disasters.
They are ever after vice, they are ever after conflict,
Their life is devoid of rhythm, they are spoiled, corpse-addict.
By God's soldiers, they will surely be overcome, in future that is near
These pirates - plunderer of crops and harvests - are ever so familiar.
They are spiders, creatures of darkness; stay away from their home and den,
In abandoned corners lie their web, they haven't seen life's vibrant garden.
Believe in God, in one and only God, in day as well as night
Heavenly ride will be with you, with God's sword in hand to fight.
Those who want to pass their life in sleep and laziness' fashion,
They don't want moon or sun, they are living dead, bound for humiliation.
Whose dream is everlasting youth, come, come that new generation,
Your sacrifice and work brought progress that are worthy of celebration.
Let them enjoy mud-slinging, their weapons are malice and vilification,
We will throw bouquet at them, and trumpet to one God our salutation.
[Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]
616
Kazi Nazrul Islam
I Sing of Heroes
I Sing of Heroes
I sing of Heroes -
The youth, the revolutionary,
Who armed with a sharp Excalibur
Today go forth in all directions
With valiant steps and steady
Upon a campaign for the impossible,
The Egyptian Pyramids of Antiquity,
Stand as a chronicle of such campaign,
Heroes whose mere breath
doth drive away into oblivion
The dead leaves of moth-eaten scriptures
Who hew down the haunts and
temples of false gods. .
And the time-honoured ale-house
Of the grand hypocrite
In the person of a reputed Moralist;
Whose mighty streams of. ideal reform
Swept away the long-standing nuisance
The awful and heavy stocks and stones of customs,
The old fossils of dead scriptures.
Those who came fearlessly
To the temple of the unreal
Armed with the stout relentless club,
To break the bondage of 'Maya'
And did with undaunted courage
Strike, by means of mighty hammer
The Chinese walls of superstition.
Those who ploughed the Burial Ground
And pushed away the dead bones
To layout a garden of blooming flowers,
Who now crowd the sea shore of life,
As 'Cynosure of neighbouring eyes'
I sing of Heroes.
Who today march forward
Upon the path of life in tune, with the world
-At dead of night the other day
A passenger who, all alone,
launched his boat
On the dangerous Deep,
Did not return to the shore next morning.
In memory of that fearless adventurer
I shed my tears and write an Elegy
Even today in the stilIness of Night
Even today I keep sleepless night
And sing a song of welcome to him
He who did not return on the morrow
Did indeed take an aerial journey over night,
As a traveller of infinite space
In search of a far-off New World.
The eternal Sentinel at the gate of Death
Trembles in fear of him,
And keeps ever-wakeful vigils.
Those who under the mighty impulse of life
Pursue Death ceaselessly
In the depths of the ocean,
In the boundless sky,
And all over the surface of the Globe,
Those who go down into the Hades
And despoil the palace of Yakshas
of its rare gems,
Who disregarding the nite of the
terrible cobra
Steal the jewel from its head,
Who have controlled the thunder of Bajrapani,
And made the proud lightning,
Daughter of the clouds,
A captive and a maid -
I have come to salute and sing
Of those who are attended by the wind
As an obedient servant
Refreshing them with its balmy breath -
My wailings and lamentations ill all the air for those
Who mount the Scaffold
And the Scaffold itself is tired now
Of hanging them.
And in whose prison,
Behold, the fair Dawn held in fetters
Doth wake up and smile
A flowery smile!
[Ami gai tari gaan; Translation: Abdul Hakim]
I sing of Heroes -
The youth, the revolutionary,
Who armed with a sharp Excalibur
Today go forth in all directions
With valiant steps and steady
Upon a campaign for the impossible,
The Egyptian Pyramids of Antiquity,
Stand as a chronicle of such campaign,
Heroes whose mere breath
doth drive away into oblivion
The dead leaves of moth-eaten scriptures
Who hew down the haunts and
temples of false gods. .
And the time-honoured ale-house
Of the grand hypocrite
In the person of a reputed Moralist;
Whose mighty streams of. ideal reform
Swept away the long-standing nuisance
The awful and heavy stocks and stones of customs,
The old fossils of dead scriptures.
Those who came fearlessly
To the temple of the unreal
Armed with the stout relentless club,
To break the bondage of 'Maya'
And did with undaunted courage
Strike, by means of mighty hammer
The Chinese walls of superstition.
Those who ploughed the Burial Ground
And pushed away the dead bones
To layout a garden of blooming flowers,
Who now crowd the sea shore of life,
As 'Cynosure of neighbouring eyes'
I sing of Heroes.
Who today march forward
Upon the path of life in tune, with the world
-At dead of night the other day
A passenger who, all alone,
launched his boat
On the dangerous Deep,
Did not return to the shore next morning.
In memory of that fearless adventurer
I shed my tears and write an Elegy
Even today in the stilIness of Night
Even today I keep sleepless night
And sing a song of welcome to him
He who did not return on the morrow
Did indeed take an aerial journey over night,
As a traveller of infinite space
In search of a far-off New World.
The eternal Sentinel at the gate of Death
Trembles in fear of him,
And keeps ever-wakeful vigils.
Those who under the mighty impulse of life
Pursue Death ceaselessly
In the depths of the ocean,
In the boundless sky,
And all over the surface of the Globe,
Those who go down into the Hades
And despoil the palace of Yakshas
of its rare gems,
Who disregarding the nite of the
terrible cobra
Steal the jewel from its head,
Who have controlled the thunder of Bajrapani,
And made the proud lightning,
Daughter of the clouds,
A captive and a maid -
I have come to salute and sing
Of those who are attended by the wind
As an obedient servant
Refreshing them with its balmy breath -
My wailings and lamentations ill all the air for those
Who mount the Scaffold
And the Scaffold itself is tired now
Of hanging them.
And in whose prison,
Behold, the fair Dawn held in fetters
Doth wake up and smile
A flowery smile!
[Ami gai tari gaan; Translation: Abdul Hakim]
606
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Human Being
Human Being
I sing of equality.
There's nothing greater than a human being,
nothing nobler!
Caste, creed, religion-there's no difference.
Throughout all ages, all places,
we're all a manifestation
of our common humanity.
'O Priest, please open the door!
A hungry god is at your doorstep
it's time for worship.'
Awakened by this dream
the priest rushes to open the temple door
with eager anticipation: His day might have
finally arrive! ! to get rich as a king
from the blessings that this god may bestow upon him.
Instead, there's this traveler-clad in rags, thin,
with a feeble voice, saying: 'Please,
open the door, Father-1 haven't eaten anything
for seven days! '
The priest slams the door on his face!
Turning around to continue on his journey
through the dark night
the hungry traveler says: 'This temple
belongs to the priest, 0 God, not to you! '
At the mosque, the mollah is overjoyed,
by the huge amount of leftovers of,meat and bread
from yesterday's offerings.
Just then a sickly traveler arrives at the door,
saying: 'Father, I have been hungry
for the last seven days! '
The mollah reacts: 'What a botheration!
You're starving? -Just go and dropp dead
in some cattle graveyard!
Besides-do you say your prayers? '
'No, Father,' replied the hungry man.
'That does it-out! ' shouts the mollah
shutting the door on his face,
holding on to the meat and bread.
The hungry man continues on his journey,
saying: 'I have lived for eighty years
without saying a prayer, yet you've never
deprived me of my food. But the mosques
and temples, O Lord-human beings have
no claim on them. Mollahs and priests
have locked all their doors! '
Where are you Chengis, Ghazni Mahmood, Kalapahar?
Smash the locked doors of these houses of worship!
Who dares shutting\the doors of the house of God,
who dares to put locks on them?
Open those doors-strike with your hammers & crowbars!
Oh, the house of worship-selfish, hypocrites
occupy their towers! -
Who are they-hating human beings
yet kissing the Quran, the Vedas, the Bible?
Snatch away those books from them.
The hypocrites pretend worshipping those books
by killing the human beings who have, in fact,
brought those books into existence.
Listen, you ignorants: Human beings
have brought the books,
the books never brought human beings!
Adam, David, Isiah, Moses, Abraham, Mohammad,
Krishna, Buddha, Nanak, Kabir-the treasures
of the world-they are our ancestors.
It's their blood that runs through our veins.
We're their children, kin-we're of the same body.
Who can tell? -Someone among us
may turn out to be like one of them.
Don't laugh, my friend-the self within us
is fathomless and infinite.
Do I-does anyone-know what greatness
may lie within that self?
Perhaps in me lies the Kalki,
and in you, Mehdi or Isiah.
Who knows what is one's limit or the origin!
Who finds what path to follow?
Whom do you hate, brother, whom do you kick?
Perhaps within his heart
resides the ever-awakened God!
Or pernaps he's nobody that important,
great, or of high esteem-but just someone
who's covered with filth, badly wounded and battered,
and burning with sorrow.
Yet, all the holy scriptures and houses of worship
are not as sacred as that one tiny human body!
Perhaps he'll father-in his house will be born
someone yet unmatched in the history of the world,
who'll deliver a message never heard before,
whose great power the world has yet to witness!
Who's he? An untouchable?
Why do you startle? He's not to be despised!
He may turn out to be Harishchandra or Lord Shiva.
Today an untouchable-tomorrow he may become
a supremely revered yogi-emperor.
You'll come to him with offerings, sing his eulogy.
Why do you look down upon a shepherd?
Perhaps he's Krishna in shepherd's disguise!
Don't hate him for being a peasant
he maybe Lord Balaram!
They're all bearers of eternal messages.
Everyday begging men and women
are turned away from the door.
How would I recognize
if Lord Bholanath and Girijaya were among them?
Just to avoid sharing a little of your sumptuous meal
with a beggar, you resort to your doorman-beating up
and chasing away a god!
But all that gets recorded-who knows if you're
ever forgiven by the humiliated goddess.
Friend, you're full of greed
with a blinder of selfishness over your eyes.
Otherwise you'd recognize the god
serving you as a coolie.
You, beast! To appease your hunger, do you want
to go on plundering the god within the human heart,
the nectar churned out of human pain?
Your evil gorge knows what appeases your hunger,
where in your palace is concealed your death-arrow.
Through the ages, your own desires
have dragged you into your death-holes.
[Translation: Sajed Kamal]
I sing of equality.
There's nothing greater than a human being,
nothing nobler!
Caste, creed, religion-there's no difference.
Throughout all ages, all places,
we're all a manifestation
of our common humanity.
'O Priest, please open the door!
A hungry god is at your doorstep
it's time for worship.'
Awakened by this dream
the priest rushes to open the temple door
with eager anticipation: His day might have
finally arrive! ! to get rich as a king
from the blessings that this god may bestow upon him.
Instead, there's this traveler-clad in rags, thin,
with a feeble voice, saying: 'Please,
open the door, Father-1 haven't eaten anything
for seven days! '
The priest slams the door on his face!
Turning around to continue on his journey
through the dark night
the hungry traveler says: 'This temple
belongs to the priest, 0 God, not to you! '
At the mosque, the mollah is overjoyed,
by the huge amount of leftovers of,meat and bread
from yesterday's offerings.
Just then a sickly traveler arrives at the door,
saying: 'Father, I have been hungry
for the last seven days! '
The mollah reacts: 'What a botheration!
You're starving? -Just go and dropp dead
in some cattle graveyard!
Besides-do you say your prayers? '
'No, Father,' replied the hungry man.
'That does it-out! ' shouts the mollah
shutting the door on his face,
holding on to the meat and bread.
The hungry man continues on his journey,
saying: 'I have lived for eighty years
without saying a prayer, yet you've never
deprived me of my food. But the mosques
and temples, O Lord-human beings have
no claim on them. Mollahs and priests
have locked all their doors! '
Where are you Chengis, Ghazni Mahmood, Kalapahar?
Smash the locked doors of these houses of worship!
Who dares shutting\the doors of the house of God,
who dares to put locks on them?
Open those doors-strike with your hammers & crowbars!
Oh, the house of worship-selfish, hypocrites
occupy their towers! -
Who are they-hating human beings
yet kissing the Quran, the Vedas, the Bible?
Snatch away those books from them.
The hypocrites pretend worshipping those books
by killing the human beings who have, in fact,
brought those books into existence.
Listen, you ignorants: Human beings
have brought the books,
the books never brought human beings!
Adam, David, Isiah, Moses, Abraham, Mohammad,
Krishna, Buddha, Nanak, Kabir-the treasures
of the world-they are our ancestors.
It's their blood that runs through our veins.
We're their children, kin-we're of the same body.
Who can tell? -Someone among us
may turn out to be like one of them.
Don't laugh, my friend-the self within us
is fathomless and infinite.
Do I-does anyone-know what greatness
may lie within that self?
Perhaps in me lies the Kalki,
and in you, Mehdi or Isiah.
Who knows what is one's limit or the origin!
Who finds what path to follow?
Whom do you hate, brother, whom do you kick?
Perhaps within his heart
resides the ever-awakened God!
Or pernaps he's nobody that important,
great, or of high esteem-but just someone
who's covered with filth, badly wounded and battered,
and burning with sorrow.
Yet, all the holy scriptures and houses of worship
are not as sacred as that one tiny human body!
Perhaps he'll father-in his house will be born
someone yet unmatched in the history of the world,
who'll deliver a message never heard before,
whose great power the world has yet to witness!
Who's he? An untouchable?
Why do you startle? He's not to be despised!
He may turn out to be Harishchandra or Lord Shiva.
Today an untouchable-tomorrow he may become
a supremely revered yogi-emperor.
You'll come to him with offerings, sing his eulogy.
Why do you look down upon a shepherd?
Perhaps he's Krishna in shepherd's disguise!
Don't hate him for being a peasant
he maybe Lord Balaram!
They're all bearers of eternal messages.
Everyday begging men and women
are turned away from the door.
How would I recognize
if Lord Bholanath and Girijaya were among them?
Just to avoid sharing a little of your sumptuous meal
with a beggar, you resort to your doorman-beating up
and chasing away a god!
But all that gets recorded-who knows if you're
ever forgiven by the humiliated goddess.
Friend, you're full of greed
with a blinder of selfishness over your eyes.
Otherwise you'd recognize the god
serving you as a coolie.
You, beast! To appease your hunger, do you want
to go on plundering the god within the human heart,
the nectar churned out of human pain?
Your evil gorge knows what appeases your hunger,
where in your palace is concealed your death-arrow.
Through the ages, your own desires
have dragged you into your death-holes.
[Translation: Sajed Kamal]
1,997
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Help me do the crossing
Help me do the crossing
Help me do the crossing,
Oh Lord of the Universe.
The boat is rocking on the waves of pity; endless is the crossing.
My boat is battered and there is no oarsman and the hope is
remote to get to the shore.
If you spurn me because I am helpless, whom shall I rely on.
In this unfeeling world those who were my companions
Have one after the other left me as this night of darkness approached.
You be my pole star and lit up the immense darkness.
Without your kindness, you universal friend,
I can't make the crossing.
[Original: Jagoter nath, karo par; Translation: Abu Rushd]
Help me do the crossing,
Oh Lord of the Universe.
The boat is rocking on the waves of pity; endless is the crossing.
My boat is battered and there is no oarsman and the hope is
remote to get to the shore.
If you spurn me because I am helpless, whom shall I rely on.
In this unfeeling world those who were my companions
Have one after the other left me as this night of darkness approached.
You be my pole star and lit up the immense darkness.
Without your kindness, you universal friend,
I can't make the crossing.
[Original: Jagoter nath, karo par; Translation: Abu Rushd]
503
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Forgive us, O Prophet!
Forgive us, O Prophet!
We haven't embraced your message,
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
We have forgotten your ideals
And the path for us that you did set.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
You trampled like dust
Luxury and wealth, O master!
You never dreamed that
We will be kings or lords of disaster!
In this world's resource and treasure
Everyone has right of due measure;
You proclaimed, on this earth,
Equal son's treatment all will get.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
In your religion, toward the unbelievers
You did not direct any hate;
You served them as your fellows,
For all of them was open your hospitable gate.
To demolish temples of others anywhere on land,
O valiant, you did not ever command;
Now even difference in opinion from others
We can't bear or tolerate.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
You did not seek in the name of faith
Meaningless and shameful killing or fight;
You did not place sword in our hand,
Rather gave us guidance, so noble and upright.
Ignoring your tolerance and magnanimity
We have elevated fanaticism to a new nobility;
Is that why, from the heavenly fountain,
Does not flow that mercy, so divine and great?
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
We haven't embraced your message
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
We have forgotten your ideals
And the path for us that you did set.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
[Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]
We haven't embraced your message,
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
We have forgotten your ideals
And the path for us that you did set.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
You trampled like dust
Luxury and wealth, O master!
You never dreamed that
We will be kings or lords of disaster!
In this world's resource and treasure
Everyone has right of due measure;
You proclaimed, on this earth,
Equal son's treatment all will get.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
In your religion, toward the unbelievers
You did not direct any hate;
You served them as your fellows,
For all of them was open your hospitable gate.
To demolish temples of others anywhere on land,
O valiant, you did not ever command;
Now even difference in opinion from others
We can't bear or tolerate.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
You did not seek in the name of faith
Meaningless and shameful killing or fight;
You did not place sword in our hand,
Rather gave us guidance, so noble and upright.
Ignoring your tolerance and magnanimity
We have elevated fanaticism to a new nobility;
Is that why, from the heavenly fountain,
Does not flow that mercy, so divine and great?
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
We haven't embraced your message
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
We have forgotten your ideals
And the path for us that you did set.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
[Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]
529
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Faith and Hope
Faith and Hope
Don't look up to them-those
who have lost faith and hope.
They move-yet they're dead-the living dead,
the devil has finished them, robbed them
of their integrity.
Out of fear, their souls have escaped
to the land of Death.
If there are wants, poverty, debt, disease,
suffering, humiliation-don't just succumb
to hopelessness-fight them!
The real enemy is within-fear; and
only the ones who will accept defeat out of confusion,
lies and unnecessary fear will go on suffering every day.
'Oh, what is going to happen? '-those who just sit at home
trembling in fear, are the ones already defeated
in the battle of life.
They are the captives in the prison
of humiliation and subjugation.
They are repuIsive-allowing the helpIess
to be treated with injustice.
They are afraid for no reason, weak and ignorant.
More than pity, I feel infuriated by them.
They lie dead with their tongues stuck out.
Flowers blossom in burial grounds, but
in these dead trees, blossoms nothing.
They are fatalists-sitting alone they think,
'This is my fate, you can't change that! '
They deny their own power,
accepting defeat without a fight.
They are senile, morbid-.don't mix with them.
They are the death's leftover garbage in this world.
They are diseased from the inside,
they see only darkness around them.
With eyes closed, even when they see light,
they say, 'This is not light.'
For those with intense, unshakeable confidence,
waves of youth and life flow melodiously.
They enliven the dead earth-bountiful
with crops, flowers and fruits.
Nothing can block their way.
Fearless-any defeat is their ladder to heaven.
The darker the days, the more they see the light of hope.
Go to them-they wear the amulets
of fearlessness and victory over death.
Those who can imagine loftily, dream nobly,
they are the ones who bring welfare to the earth.
They show the paths of exploring the impossible,
even angels abide by them.
Possessing soul, yet allowing themselves
to suffer bodily pain,
not vowing their lives against the oppressorthey
are like caged animals, not human beings,
their hopelessness leads all human hopes and faith
to dissolution.
Possessing hands and feet, yet sitting inert
hiding faces in a dark muddy hole out of fearthey
have disavowed their humanity.
They belong to burial and cremation groundsnot
amongst us.
I say, listen people, lead a life of fulfillment.
You'll see, the earth is shaken by its power!
This is the message of God: 'Human beings get
what they wish for.'
Their hands, feet, eyes become God's own.
If hopes are lofty, and so are the efforts to achieve them,
then victory awaits at the door.
Impatience never overtakes that soldier
even at times of great difficulties.
Determined, calm, engrossed is the pioneer hero.
He replaces gloom with divine joy.
Like the moon, his love moves the sea of humanity.
His heart is filled with courage.
March along with him on that path of victory!
Have faith- you will get what you hope for!
And don't touch him-he's dead-one
who has lost faith.
[Original: Bishshash o Asha; Translation: Sajed Kamal]
Don't look up to them-those
who have lost faith and hope.
They move-yet they're dead-the living dead,
the devil has finished them, robbed them
of their integrity.
Out of fear, their souls have escaped
to the land of Death.
If there are wants, poverty, debt, disease,
suffering, humiliation-don't just succumb
to hopelessness-fight them!
The real enemy is within-fear; and
only the ones who will accept defeat out of confusion,
lies and unnecessary fear will go on suffering every day.
'Oh, what is going to happen? '-those who just sit at home
trembling in fear, are the ones already defeated
in the battle of life.
They are the captives in the prison
of humiliation and subjugation.
They are repuIsive-allowing the helpIess
to be treated with injustice.
They are afraid for no reason, weak and ignorant.
More than pity, I feel infuriated by them.
They lie dead with their tongues stuck out.
Flowers blossom in burial grounds, but
in these dead trees, blossoms nothing.
They are fatalists-sitting alone they think,
'This is my fate, you can't change that! '
They deny their own power,
accepting defeat without a fight.
They are senile, morbid-.don't mix with them.
They are the death's leftover garbage in this world.
They are diseased from the inside,
they see only darkness around them.
With eyes closed, even when they see light,
they say, 'This is not light.'
For those with intense, unshakeable confidence,
waves of youth and life flow melodiously.
They enliven the dead earth-bountiful
with crops, flowers and fruits.
Nothing can block their way.
Fearless-any defeat is their ladder to heaven.
The darker the days, the more they see the light of hope.
Go to them-they wear the amulets
of fearlessness and victory over death.
Those who can imagine loftily, dream nobly,
they are the ones who bring welfare to the earth.
They show the paths of exploring the impossible,
even angels abide by them.
Possessing soul, yet allowing themselves
to suffer bodily pain,
not vowing their lives against the oppressorthey
are like caged animals, not human beings,
their hopelessness leads all human hopes and faith
to dissolution.
Possessing hands and feet, yet sitting inert
hiding faces in a dark muddy hole out of fearthey
have disavowed their humanity.
They belong to burial and cremation groundsnot
amongst us.
I say, listen people, lead a life of fulfillment.
You'll see, the earth is shaken by its power!
This is the message of God: 'Human beings get
what they wish for.'
Their hands, feet, eyes become God's own.
If hopes are lofty, and so are the efforts to achieve them,
then victory awaits at the door.
Impatience never overtakes that soldier
even at times of great difficulties.
Determined, calm, engrossed is the pioneer hero.
He replaces gloom with divine joy.
Like the moon, his love moves the sea of humanity.
His heart is filled with courage.
March along with him on that path of victory!
Have faith- you will get what you hope for!
And don't touch him-he's dead-one
who has lost faith.
[Original: Bishshash o Asha; Translation: Sajed Kamal]
543
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Fanaticism is not Religion!
Fanaticism is not Religion!
Bullying, hypocrisy or fanaticism: that's not what religion is all about
According to all scriptures, fanatics are disciples of the devil: no doubt.
The one and only Creator of all: He is the loving Master ever;
That there is more than one Creator, no true religion can claim so; never.
Even then, partnership to God is attributed by Satan the smitten
Yet his judge is only God, no one else: in the Qur'an it is written.
Man can't be Satan's judge or try him; indeed, either to the Hell
or to Heaven, what human power can push him or propel?
'Guide only those who are lost' - this is a divine command,
Any wrongdoing even against the unbelievers: in the Qur'an it is patently banned.
Why do people sin, or why some go astray as human being?
Why some people come to this world handicapped, or without the power of seeing?
Why are some ever-destitutes, and some are ever-so-rich?
Why some always live in peace, while others are destined to trouble's ditch?
Which preacher or Mullah knows its mystery, please tell me
They have carried the load of scriptures - Qur'an, Vedas - like no more than a donkey.
Even to that wretched who did not call Him, as to the provision for his hunger,
Why God did not Himself deprive him, who can communicate to a scripture-monger?
His creation - like the open-wide sky - embraces all, none barred;
His air and wind flows everywhere: mosque, temple, or earth's every corner or yard.
On the basis of faith, the light of His sun and moon does not ever discriminate,
it comes to every home or nation; where does it cause any division or foster hate?
His rain comes in shower flowing in the field and yard of all the faithful,
His fire, water, air serve everyone - to the ingrate and the grateful.
His water brings the blessings of flower and fruit to the garden of every nation,
Who, yet, preaches hatred and division in His love's congregation?
No saint, dervish, yogi, a prophet or a messenger truly divine,
Ever reviled others' faith or religion - who isn't aware of this wisdom so fine?
Under the guise of religion, the bullies and the pretenders have a pact;
they stir up the ignorant mass as part of their vile selfish act.
They foster hatred and prejudice among different faith or nation;
these devils cherish power, while feeding themselves is their only preoccupation.
Under the guise of religious movements, these ugly faces
claim that, if in power, they will help their fellows, or that's how they make their cases.
Fame and medals of aristocrats these Zaminders, loan sharks, and filthy rich get
In reality, they care about none; on their own welfare their eyes are set.
All the wealth they amass, have they ever given anyone anything?
Has ever a homeless found shelter in their fancy, luxurious building?
In the name of nationality or religion, poison is what they spread;
These are poisonous snakes; Finish them - don't you dread!
One is not a believer who doesn't have tolerance or patience - a virtue so auspicious
They are gangs of demons, worse than titans or monsters - utterly vicious.
Those who are oppressors, they have no specific religion or affiliation,
They block people from the divine ray; these friends of darkness believe in no
reconciliation.
They bring agitation and hatred among people, and help break any relation,
They are monsters who snatch away others' food and water in disgraceful jubilation.
We must know that these people in their death's pang,
suffer in this life, as shame over their head does hang.
The ultimate Judge who has no partner, He
punishes whom in just a while, you will, yes you will, see.
We are poor, destitute, oppressed and weak!
To lead us astray those who incessantly tweak;
They breed discord, disturbance, and pursue their selfish fortune,
In the Qur'an God addresses these wretcheds: 'Turn into apes' to play their tune.
[Original: Gorami Dharmo Noy
Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq ]
Bullying, hypocrisy or fanaticism: that's not what religion is all about
According to all scriptures, fanatics are disciples of the devil: no doubt.
The one and only Creator of all: He is the loving Master ever;
That there is more than one Creator, no true religion can claim so; never.
Even then, partnership to God is attributed by Satan the smitten
Yet his judge is only God, no one else: in the Qur'an it is written.
Man can't be Satan's judge or try him; indeed, either to the Hell
or to Heaven, what human power can push him or propel?
'Guide only those who are lost' - this is a divine command,
Any wrongdoing even against the unbelievers: in the Qur'an it is patently banned.
Why do people sin, or why some go astray as human being?
Why some people come to this world handicapped, or without the power of seeing?
Why are some ever-destitutes, and some are ever-so-rich?
Why some always live in peace, while others are destined to trouble's ditch?
Which preacher or Mullah knows its mystery, please tell me
They have carried the load of scriptures - Qur'an, Vedas - like no more than a donkey.
Even to that wretched who did not call Him, as to the provision for his hunger,
Why God did not Himself deprive him, who can communicate to a scripture-monger?
His creation - like the open-wide sky - embraces all, none barred;
His air and wind flows everywhere: mosque, temple, or earth's every corner or yard.
On the basis of faith, the light of His sun and moon does not ever discriminate,
it comes to every home or nation; where does it cause any division or foster hate?
His rain comes in shower flowing in the field and yard of all the faithful,
His fire, water, air serve everyone - to the ingrate and the grateful.
His water brings the blessings of flower and fruit to the garden of every nation,
Who, yet, preaches hatred and division in His love's congregation?
No saint, dervish, yogi, a prophet or a messenger truly divine,
Ever reviled others' faith or religion - who isn't aware of this wisdom so fine?
Under the guise of religion, the bullies and the pretenders have a pact;
they stir up the ignorant mass as part of their vile selfish act.
They foster hatred and prejudice among different faith or nation;
these devils cherish power, while feeding themselves is their only preoccupation.
Under the guise of religious movements, these ugly faces
claim that, if in power, they will help their fellows, or that's how they make their cases.
Fame and medals of aristocrats these Zaminders, loan sharks, and filthy rich get
In reality, they care about none; on their own welfare their eyes are set.
All the wealth they amass, have they ever given anyone anything?
Has ever a homeless found shelter in their fancy, luxurious building?
In the name of nationality or religion, poison is what they spread;
These are poisonous snakes; Finish them - don't you dread!
One is not a believer who doesn't have tolerance or patience - a virtue so auspicious
They are gangs of demons, worse than titans or monsters - utterly vicious.
Those who are oppressors, they have no specific religion or affiliation,
They block people from the divine ray; these friends of darkness believe in no
reconciliation.
They bring agitation and hatred among people, and help break any relation,
They are monsters who snatch away others' food and water in disgraceful jubilation.
We must know that these people in their death's pang,
suffer in this life, as shame over their head does hang.
The ultimate Judge who has no partner, He
punishes whom in just a while, you will, yes you will, see.
We are poor, destitute, oppressed and weak!
To lead us astray those who incessantly tweak;
They breed discord, disturbance, and pursue their selfish fortune,
In the Qur'an God addresses these wretcheds: 'Turn into apes' to play their tune.
[Original: Gorami Dharmo Noy
Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq ]
521
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Equality
Equality
I sing the song of equality.
I sing of the country
Where fresh joys blossom forth in, the hearts of men
And budding life shimmers in their faces.
Comrade, nobody is king- in this land and none a subject.
There is no man here poor and abject
Nor is there any, full of riches and money.
Here some do not. eat cast off rice-sweepings
And some all the cream and honey.
No one bows down here before the horses feet,
Or in front of the motor-cars wheels.
Hatred does not spring up here
In whitemen's breasts
Whenever they see blackmen close and near.
Comrade, this is a place where all are equal,
Where the black and the white have no separate
graveyards,
Where they have no separate rooms for offering
their prayers.
There are no sentries or peons here,
Nor is there any police-troops fear.
This is the Heaven where there are no distinctions,
Where leaving aside all 'quarrels
Men have clasped other's hands as brothers dear,
Religion does not create differences in this place
Nor do scriptures raise any futile clamour.
The priests and padres, the mollah and the
moulvis
Drink water here from the same container.
Here the house of prayer for the Creator
Lies in the body and the mind.
Here His throne of sorrows
Is amidst the miseries of mankind.
Here He responds to men's calls
By whatever name ,they may choose to appeal
Like the loving and fond mother
Ever ready and alert to respond
To the call of her child,
Whatever name he may call her by.
Here in this abode of equality
Different ways of apparel
Do not give rise to vicious quarrel.
Here clothed in dusty costume
Men are satisfied and happy,
Here in this land peace and equality.
[Original: Shammyo; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
I sing the song of equality.
I sing of the country
Where fresh joys blossom forth in, the hearts of men
And budding life shimmers in their faces.
Comrade, nobody is king- in this land and none a subject.
There is no man here poor and abject
Nor is there any, full of riches and money.
Here some do not. eat cast off rice-sweepings
And some all the cream and honey.
No one bows down here before the horses feet,
Or in front of the motor-cars wheels.
Hatred does not spring up here
In whitemen's breasts
Whenever they see blackmen close and near.
Comrade, this is a place where all are equal,
Where the black and the white have no separate
graveyards,
Where they have no separate rooms for offering
their prayers.
There are no sentries or peons here,
Nor is there any police-troops fear.
This is the Heaven where there are no distinctions,
Where leaving aside all 'quarrels
Men have clasped other's hands as brothers dear,
Religion does not create differences in this place
Nor do scriptures raise any futile clamour.
The priests and padres, the mollah and the
moulvis
Drink water here from the same container.
Here the house of prayer for the Creator
Lies in the body and the mind.
Here His throne of sorrows
Is amidst the miseries of mankind.
Here He responds to men's calls
By whatever name ,they may choose to appeal
Like the loving and fond mother
Ever ready and alert to respond
To the call of her child,
Whatever name he may call her by.
Here in this abode of equality
Different ways of apparel
Do not give rise to vicious quarrel.
Here clothed in dusty costume
Men are satisfied and happy,
Here in this land peace and equality.
[Original: Shammyo; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
877
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Eid, at the end of fasting of Ramadan
Eid, at the end of fasting of Ramadan
O heart, Ramadan has come to an end,
and the happy Eid knocks at the door for all,
Come, today give yourself away wholeheartedly,
heed the divine call.
.
Offer all your wealth and treasure
for the sake of your Benevolent Lord,
Pay zakat to awaken the dying Muslims,
from the slumber that they can't afford.
Come, O heart, offer your Eid prayer
in that sacred plain,
where valiant Muslims sacrificed their lives
and became martyrs, not in vain.
Let's forget today who is friend or foe,
and hold each other in caring embrace.
Let your love be the magnet
to bring the humanity to Allah's grace.
Remember those in perennial fast,
constantly in hunger and deprivation,
Share with the poor, orphans and the destitutes,
to make inclusive your celebration.
Pour into the bowl of your heart
the ambrosia of tawheed.
The Prophet himself might accept the invitation,
and come to join your feast, indeed.
O heart, with the very stones or bricks
that some people hurled at you all along,
build a wonderful mosque of love
with foundation, solid and strong.
[Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]
O heart, Ramadan has come to an end,
and the happy Eid knocks at the door for all,
Come, today give yourself away wholeheartedly,
heed the divine call.
.
Offer all your wealth and treasure
for the sake of your Benevolent Lord,
Pay zakat to awaken the dying Muslims,
from the slumber that they can't afford.
Come, O heart, offer your Eid prayer
in that sacred plain,
where valiant Muslims sacrificed their lives
and became martyrs, not in vain.
Let's forget today who is friend or foe,
and hold each other in caring embrace.
Let your love be the magnet
to bring the humanity to Allah's grace.
Remember those in perennial fast,
constantly in hunger and deprivation,
Share with the poor, orphans and the destitutes,
to make inclusive your celebration.
Pour into the bowl of your heart
the ambrosia of tawheed.
The Prophet himself might accept the invitation,
and come to join your feast, indeed.
O heart, with the very stones or bricks
that some people hurled at you all along,
build a wonderful mosque of love
with foundation, solid and strong.
[Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]
788
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Eid Mobarak
Eid Mobarak
After the lapse of a year
you have come, Eid,
having crossed many a desert
of hundreds of miles,
having caused many a tear to
be shed on many a sand-field.
You have brought from one of the seven
heavens a present to the door of the hungry,
the bliss of the flower-garden
to the forest of thorns.
And have asked the cup-bearer
to hurry up with the cup of wine.
The hawk-cuckoo sings on all sides,
the bride keeps awake without a
wink in the bridal chamber of midnight!
Flowers weep but where's the
flower vase?
There's no sleep for lover
in the distant land away from home.
He remembers only the smell, akin
to the dry land wetted by rain,
of the loose coiffure of his beloved,
the distracted braid of her hair
being at sixes and sevens!!
Tidings of joy came last evening at
signal from the second day of the moon,
the budding mind is boiling up
with happiness!
The shanai sings unto tune Ashabari.
The stone-hard mind has softened
in the smell of perfume,
minds are mortgaged to each other
today in debt without any document,
without any debt to bother about
Yazid, Hasan and Hussain are
bosom friends today.
Hell and heaven, flowers and fire
all fall for one another,
Shirin and Farhad are in each
other's embrace!
Leili has snake-like embroiled
Qayes in herself.
The lover in the arms of his
beloved closes his eyes in pleasure,
kisses around on cheeks,
the hell of revelry is ablaze,
Satan distributes cups of wine in heaven,
friends and enemies from the same assembly.
The field of Arafat is spread out
Today from village to village,
emperors and fakirs embrace
one another like brothers.
The two figures Lat-Manat hold on to
the Kaaba and dance.
The trumpet of Islam resounds today
through out the world,
there are no high and low - all men are equal,
nobody is another's king or subject.
Who are you, Oh noble man, a
Nawab or Badsha in the upper mansion?
You are a blot on all time; you
have been responsible for raising
doubts about Islam.
Says Islam, we are all for one another,
we are all brothers and shall
share joy and sorrow equally,
none of us has the right to hold.
Is it ordained for some people
to shed tears and for others to
light up the chandeliers!
And just two people to have princely
luck, millions to suffer from bad luck?
That is not the prescription of Islam.
So has Idul-Fitr ushered in the new dispensation,
you who are hoarding up, you should
give away all surplus,
you must have food to satisfy your hunger!
The cup of enjoyment boils over in your hands,
but those who are thirsty have a
share in the cup,
you must, a my hero, give them
and then enjoy profusely.
You must empty your heart and
make a gift of yourself;
you who are very calculating,
do not sit down to calculate!
Rather let your calculation
go wrong for once.
Today the wayward play the
teasing games in their hearts,
today even the ascetic is
reddened by kiss from Sayel and Laila!
Jamshed lives and demands
wine to drink.
Today I shall go about on the
streets crying: Eid-Mobarak,
a my friends, Assalam!
Today I shall distribute from
lip to lip the message of
flowers as sweetmeat for the day.
This is Eid, an occasion
for giving oneself away.
The Eidgah is red with the ardour of my gift!
Not the body but the
heart will give of itself to
everybody and make a martyr of itself.
[(Original: Eid mobarak; Translation: Basudha Chakravarty]
After the lapse of a year
you have come, Eid,
having crossed many a desert
of hundreds of miles,
having caused many a tear to
be shed on many a sand-field.
You have brought from one of the seven
heavens a present to the door of the hungry,
the bliss of the flower-garden
to the forest of thorns.
And have asked the cup-bearer
to hurry up with the cup of wine.
The hawk-cuckoo sings on all sides,
the bride keeps awake without a
wink in the bridal chamber of midnight!
Flowers weep but where's the
flower vase?
There's no sleep for lover
in the distant land away from home.
He remembers only the smell, akin
to the dry land wetted by rain,
of the loose coiffure of his beloved,
the distracted braid of her hair
being at sixes and sevens!!
Tidings of joy came last evening at
signal from the second day of the moon,
the budding mind is boiling up
with happiness!
The shanai sings unto tune Ashabari.
The stone-hard mind has softened
in the smell of perfume,
minds are mortgaged to each other
today in debt without any document,
without any debt to bother about
Yazid, Hasan and Hussain are
bosom friends today.
Hell and heaven, flowers and fire
all fall for one another,
Shirin and Farhad are in each
other's embrace!
Leili has snake-like embroiled
Qayes in herself.
The lover in the arms of his
beloved closes his eyes in pleasure,
kisses around on cheeks,
the hell of revelry is ablaze,
Satan distributes cups of wine in heaven,
friends and enemies from the same assembly.
The field of Arafat is spread out
Today from village to village,
emperors and fakirs embrace
one another like brothers.
The two figures Lat-Manat hold on to
the Kaaba and dance.
The trumpet of Islam resounds today
through out the world,
there are no high and low - all men are equal,
nobody is another's king or subject.
Who are you, Oh noble man, a
Nawab or Badsha in the upper mansion?
You are a blot on all time; you
have been responsible for raising
doubts about Islam.
Says Islam, we are all for one another,
we are all brothers and shall
share joy and sorrow equally,
none of us has the right to hold.
Is it ordained for some people
to shed tears and for others to
light up the chandeliers!
And just two people to have princely
luck, millions to suffer from bad luck?
That is not the prescription of Islam.
So has Idul-Fitr ushered in the new dispensation,
you who are hoarding up, you should
give away all surplus,
you must have food to satisfy your hunger!
The cup of enjoyment boils over in your hands,
but those who are thirsty have a
share in the cup,
you must, a my hero, give them
and then enjoy profusely.
You must empty your heart and
make a gift of yourself;
you who are very calculating,
do not sit down to calculate!
Rather let your calculation
go wrong for once.
Today the wayward play the
teasing games in their hearts,
today even the ascetic is
reddened by kiss from Sayel and Laila!
Jamshed lives and demands
wine to drink.
Today I shall go about on the
streets crying: Eid-Mobarak,
a my friends, Assalam!
Today I shall distribute from
lip to lip the message of
flowers as sweetmeat for the day.
This is Eid, an occasion
for giving oneself away.
The Eidgah is red with the ardour of my gift!
Not the body but the
heart will give of itself to
everybody and make a martyr of itself.
[(Original: Eid mobarak; Translation: Basudha Chakravarty]
814
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Day-Labourer
Day-Labourer
Your luxury cars are plying through the streets
And your big ships are cruising Over the Oceans.
The fast steam engines are running on railways,
The country is filled with plants and machinery:
Can you tell me whose contributions are all these?
With whose blood are your buildings
Painted red? Dismantle them and you'll find
On each piece of brick vividly written the names.
You may not know; but each and
Every grain of dust is aware of it,
The meaning of those roads, vessels, trains,
And of those decorative palaces.
The good days are coming soon:
Day after day your debts are being inflated
You must pay back those heavy debts.
Those who with hard labour broke the rugged hills
With hammer, shovel and pick-axe,
Their bones today are strewn 'on either side
Of those very roads. Those who, in order to render
You service, became day-labourers.
Those who covered their cherished body with dust
Only to carry you and your belongings,
They are indeed the real human beings,
they are the saints.
I sing their 'inner voice' through my songs.
Marching over their painful suffering breasts
The New Revolution will raise its new head.
You are reclining at ease
On the top of the third floor,
While we are rotting at the bottom;
Still you love to be
Addressed as 'My Lord'?
Absurd! That cannot be! !
The helm of this world must remain under
Those, whose mind and soul are soaked with
Sweet love for the motherland;
Those who journeyed with others through
The tiresome roads and covered their
Feet with dust; I shall pick up
That very dust from their feet and put it
on my head as a holy sacred offering.
Smeared with the blood of the pain stricken
Suffering humanity of the world
the new sun of the new Dawn is rising
above the horizon.
Break open today those ugly rusty doors
Of your narrow congested heart;
Take off those artificial garments of yours
Which look unnatural like coloured leather.
Look at the concentrated condensed air
Appearing deep blue in the sky,
Let them enter free in a frolicsome way
direct into your inner hearts -
Unlock all those obstructing clutches!
Let the entire blue Heaven fall down in our midst,
Let the moon, the sun and the stars shower on us.
Let all people of all times
and all climes come together
And stand up at the same confluence to listen to
The anthem of great unity under one flag-
If you torment here a single soul
The pain resounds in a crescendo
In the aggrieved hearts of all others.
Insult to a single person here means
Humiliating the whole of humanity
An insult to all of us.
Today is the day of upheaval
Against the heart-rending agony and pain
Of the great Human-beings of the world.
[Translation: Amir Hossain Chowdhury]
Your luxury cars are plying through the streets
And your big ships are cruising Over the Oceans.
The fast steam engines are running on railways,
The country is filled with plants and machinery:
Can you tell me whose contributions are all these?
With whose blood are your buildings
Painted red? Dismantle them and you'll find
On each piece of brick vividly written the names.
You may not know; but each and
Every grain of dust is aware of it,
The meaning of those roads, vessels, trains,
And of those decorative palaces.
The good days are coming soon:
Day after day your debts are being inflated
You must pay back those heavy debts.
Those who with hard labour broke the rugged hills
With hammer, shovel and pick-axe,
Their bones today are strewn 'on either side
Of those very roads. Those who, in order to render
You service, became day-labourers.
Those who covered their cherished body with dust
Only to carry you and your belongings,
They are indeed the real human beings,
they are the saints.
I sing their 'inner voice' through my songs.
Marching over their painful suffering breasts
The New Revolution will raise its new head.
You are reclining at ease
On the top of the third floor,
While we are rotting at the bottom;
Still you love to be
Addressed as 'My Lord'?
Absurd! That cannot be! !
The helm of this world must remain under
Those, whose mind and soul are soaked with
Sweet love for the motherland;
Those who journeyed with others through
The tiresome roads and covered their
Feet with dust; I shall pick up
That very dust from their feet and put it
on my head as a holy sacred offering.
Smeared with the blood of the pain stricken
Suffering humanity of the world
the new sun of the new Dawn is rising
above the horizon.
Break open today those ugly rusty doors
Of your narrow congested heart;
Take off those artificial garments of yours
Which look unnatural like coloured leather.
Look at the concentrated condensed air
Appearing deep blue in the sky,
Let them enter free in a frolicsome way
direct into your inner hearts -
Unlock all those obstructing clutches!
Let the entire blue Heaven fall down in our midst,
Let the moon, the sun and the stars shower on us.
Let all people of all times
and all climes come together
And stand up at the same confluence to listen to
The anthem of great unity under one flag-
If you torment here a single soul
The pain resounds in a crescendo
In the aggrieved hearts of all others.
Insult to a single person here means
Humiliating the whole of humanity
An insult to all of us.
Today is the day of upheaval
Against the heart-rending agony and pain
Of the great Human-beings of the world.
[Translation: Amir Hossain Chowdhury]
795
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Coming of Anondomoyee
Coming of Anondomoyee
How much longer will you
stay hidden behind a clay statue?
Heaven today is subjugated by merciless tyrants.
God's children are getting whipped, heroic youth-hanged.
India today is a butchery-when will you arrive, O Destroyer?
God's soldiers are serving terms of hard labor exiled to desolate islands.
Who will come to the battlefield
unless you come with your sword in your hand?
[Translation: Sajed Kamal]
How much longer will you
stay hidden behind a clay statue?
Heaven today is subjugated by merciless tyrants.
God's children are getting whipped, heroic youth-hanged.
India today is a butchery-when will you arrive, O Destroyer?
God's soldiers are serving terms of hard labor exiled to desolate islands.
Who will come to the battlefield
unless you come with your sword in your hand?
[Translation: Sajed Kamal]
656
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Come Hither
Come Hither
Come hither, the 'fallen', the 'impure', the 'outcastes'!
Let us all worship The Holy Mother together!
Only when all castes and all nations
Assemble at Her feet, side by side without fear;
Only where we are not bound by temple, priest or scriptures
Can we properly worship the Goddess
Only when brothers sit side by side, worshiping together
Will she embrace those who call Her by name
Descending from Her throne in the heavens,
Sitting amongst us on the dusty earthly ground.
The Goddess' altar will become sacred only when
Her holy water is blessed by the touch of us all.
Because we have ignored Her true message,
Brother has turned against brother
Today, upon seeing the Goddess in Her full splendor,
You will realize that we are all children of the same Mother
And heaven, earth and the entire universe will erupt in awe,
Awoken by our invocation to the Holy Mother
Fearlessly chanted by all in unison.
[Translated by: Udayan Chattopadhyay]
Come hither, the 'fallen', the 'impure', the 'outcastes'!
Let us all worship The Holy Mother together!
Only when all castes and all nations
Assemble at Her feet, side by side without fear;
Only where we are not bound by temple, priest or scriptures
Can we properly worship the Goddess
Only when brothers sit side by side, worshiping together
Will she embrace those who call Her by name
Descending from Her throne in the heavens,
Sitting amongst us on the dusty earthly ground.
The Goddess' altar will become sacred only when
Her holy water is blessed by the touch of us all.
Because we have ignored Her true message,
Brother has turned against brother
Today, upon seeing the Goddess in Her full splendor,
You will realize that we are all children of the same Mother
And heaven, earth and the entire universe will erupt in awe,
Awoken by our invocation to the Holy Mother
Fearlessly chanted by all in unison.
[Translated by: Udayan Chattopadhyay]
609
Kazi Nazrul Islam
Bless us Oh Lord
Bless us Oh Lord
Bless us Oh Lord, bless us all.
Let other love us and let us love others.
Let there be no hatred or malice or physical pain or mental agony.
Let the earth be another paradise Oh Lord.
Give us the light of knowledge, give us Herculean strength Oh Lord.
We will explore you in the light of knowledge you have
given, you strength will aid our work.
If righteousness by our companion, al fear and sorrow will end.
But if we fail in any danger save us from it Oh Lord.
[Translation: Abu Rushd]
Bless us Oh Lord, bless us all.
Let other love us and let us love others.
Let there be no hatred or malice or physical pain or mental agony.
Let the earth be another paradise Oh Lord.
Give us the light of knowledge, give us Herculean strength Oh Lord.
We will explore you in the light of knowledge you have
given, you strength will aid our work.
If righteousness by our companion, al fear and sorrow will end.
But if we fail in any danger save us from it Oh Lord.
[Translation: Abu Rushd]
1,347