Nazrul remembered

[mullu]

After Rabindranath Tagore, another Bengal poet Kazi Nazrul Islam was remembered in the first ever joint celebrations by India and Bangladesh. The festivity marked the 113th birth anniversary of Bangladesh’s national poet. The two-day programme in Dhaka in May also marked the 90th anniversary of the publication of Nazrul’s epic poem “Bidrohi” (The Rebel). Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina inaugurated the festivity, while Salman Khurshid, Union Law Minister of India, attended the inaugural function as the guest of honour.

The day’s programme included presentation of Nazrul songs and staging of his play “Shilpi”. An exhibition of Nazrul’s books, audio albums, photographs and belongings were on display. A houseful of audience enjoyed the performances of leading Indian and local artistes including their presentation of Nazrul’s famous ghazal “Eki sure tumi gaan shonaley”.
Kazi Nazrul Islam is not a Muslim poet as many would try to dub him. He was truly a renaissance man, with his revolutionary zeal against social discriminations. He was perhaps the most secular and humanist of all Bengali poets, who believed in no line of separation among mankind on the points of religion, cast, colour and creed. He stopped writing due to an incurable disease in 1942.

The poet, respected both in Bangladesh and India, had written numerous courageous poems. His rebellion against the colonial British rule was most courageously depicted in one of his famous essays “Raj Bandir Joban Bondi”. Nazrul was active in the anti-British movement and penned innumerable songs and poems against the repressive British empire. He was born on May 24, 1899, in Churulia village in West Bengal. His poems and songs encourage and provide strength to be defiant against all sorts of injustice, deprivation and exploitation even today.

After the independence of Bangladesh in 1971, Nazrul was brought to Dhaka from Kolkata and awarded citizenship. He was declared the national poet of Bangladesh by the post-Independence government of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. He died on August 29, 1976, at the age of 77.

[abhisays]

Allow me to share some poems of Nazrul Islam (translated in English)

[abhisays]

Come silently like the Moon

O, my love
Come silently in the middle of the night
As gliding moonlight

With your tender touch
Bring sweet dreams to my eyes

O, my love, never again
I will need to open the door,
Come quietly through the door of my heart
Be there forever in my sweet memory

Come as the fragrance of un-blossomed flowers
Swaying in the evening breeze
Sing out my name over and over again
Like love-stricken evening bird in the wilderness

Come as tear drops in my eyes
Whisper in my ears like soothing tune of flute
Come as my lost love
O my ever lost love
Be there as eternal pain in my heart.

[abhisays]

He who has seen my Mother

He who has seen my Mother
can he hate his brother?
She loves everyone in the three worlds;
her heart cries for all.
With her there's no difference of caste,
no distinction between high and low;
all are the same.
If she sees a Candala
like Rama with Guhak
she clasps him to her breast.
Ma is our Great Illusion, highest Nature, and
Father our highest Self;
that's why one feels love for all
we feel love for all.
If you worship the Mother
hating her children
she won't accept your puja;
the Ten-Armed One will not.
The day we forget the knowledge of difference
on that day only
will Ma come home to us.

[abhisays]

Let's Meet Hereafter!

We will meet again in the life Hereafter;
Here, please, forget me with a simple laughter.
Anything that remained unsaid,
I won't say; Let you also keep silence;
If I offer my love, turn me away;
If I persist, hurt me, in pretense.

Dream is broken abruptly here,
The evening's bud sheds in the dawn;
The heart dries up before love is savored;
The ambrosia here has the taste of poison.

In separation here, heart longs in agony;
When together, quickly we go apart;
Where the fountain of love is never dry,
In that everlasting Garden, remember to seek my heart.

[abhisays]

mother, i may have been a naughty child

mother, i may have been a naughty child,
but i am your child nevertheless!
you own the world, mother, you are the queen of the world,
and look at me, i go about in the habit of a beggar.

you are bent on neglecting me,
but i love you anyway, it is you,�only you that i call upon.
just as a child runs to his mother even after she has scolded him,
so do i run to you.

how could you push me away from you, mother,
you are my mother, are you not?
oh, why did you cast me away, mother,
leave me to play in the dust?
i would have been a better child,
had only you been a little more kind to me.

i am sad and angry, mother,
i shall go away anywhere my eyes and my feet take me to.
i do not care now whether i live or die now, mother,
i am going away.

[abhisays]

O Nightingale!

In Garden Plot, O Nightingale, do not
rock upon this flower stem today;
For these buds swinging in deep sleep,
Unbroken dozing slumber lay.

Oh how north winds blow now!
Empty branches bow, day and night!
Absent is the southern breeze,
singing melodies, honey bees are in dismay!

When will that virgin flower
sunder sleeps power, opening wide in blossom?
By morning cheeks in red, breaking slumber's stay.

Springtime wakes the bud wide,
breaking each side, bringing a flowering flood.
Flowering bud's, parting lips pursed
into laughter burst, dimpled cheeks display.

Oh poet! you forgot the scent, so
sinking down low, fail to find that shore.
The flower in past, that had filled your breast,
Now, o'erflowed it lies, 'neath a flood of watering eyes.

[abhisays]

Song of Dawn

It's dawn,-
open the door,
wake up, Khukumoni!
The jasmine flowers
from their vines
are calling you to come running,
wake up, Khukumoni!
Uncle Sun
is crawling out
all dressed in a crimson shirt,
listen -- the gatekeeper
is singing
his song, "Rama hoi."
The birds
are leaving their nests
to fly in the sky,
listen to them
singing continuously,
filling the morning air!
The restless
Bulbul birds
whistle from flower to flower,
this time,
this time,
Khukumoni will open her eyes!
Setting the rudder,
hoisting the sail,
the boat begins its journey,
this time,
this time,
Khukumoni has opened her eyes!
Lazy
she's not--
she's an early-riser,
that's why
Brother Moon
gives a teep everyday for her!
Up
and running--
all the little boys and girls,
listen to them
babbling
about who woke up first!
Night's
wash up
wake up, Khukumoni!
With a hymn
let's begin
asking for a blessing from God!

[abhisays]

Syama wakes on the cremation grounds

Syama wakes on the cremation grounds
to take Her child
at the final hour
to Her lap.
The peaceful Mother sits on the pyre
in fire hidden by Her sari of love.
To hold him on Her lap
She left the Kailasa of Her joy, and
with blessings and fearlessness in Her hands
made the cremation grounds Her home.
Why fear this place
when you'll sleep peacefully at the Mother's feet?
Who dies ignited by the flames of this world,
to him the Mother calls:
"Come to My lap, come to My lap."
To lull you to sleep, Oh Wearied by Life,
Ma takes you to Her lap
disguised as death.

[abhisays]

Talk to me, javas, talk to me

Talk to me, javas, talk to me --
what austerities did you do to get Syama Ma's feet?
Torn from your stems on illusion's plants,
falling scattered to the ground at Her feet,
you got liberation
bursting open
beside yourselves with joy.
If only I could learn from your example
my life might bear fruit.
Thousands of sweet-smelling flowers bloom in the woods,
and they're all such beauties! So how come
you got Ma's feet?
You're just ignoran't javas!

Crimson like you at the Mother's feet,
when will they be flowers
offered to Her, blessed by Her?
When will they turn red
at the touch of Her feet?
When will they, just like you, blush scarlet --
these dull petals of my mind?