Kazi Nazrul Islam

Kazi Nazrul Islam

1899–1976 · lived 77 years -- --

Kazi Nazrul Islam was a Bengali poet, writer, musician and the national poet of Bangladesh. He was known for his prolific output and his revolutionary spirit, often writing about intense emotional states and socio-political issues. His work championed freedom, equality, and the struggle against oppression, making him a significant voice for the Bengali people during a tumultuous period. Islam's poetry and music continue to inspire and resonate, reflecting a deep connection to his cultural heritage and a universal message of humanism.

n. 1899-05-24, Churulia · m. 1976-08-29, Daca

64,914 Views

Don't be afraid, O human soul!

Don't be afraid, O human soul!

The power thrones of today represent devil's affair,
the power-hungry monsters are busy playing there.
Don't be afraid, O human soul! Don't break down in tear!
The drunkard of the underworld won't prevail much longer here.
With injustice and wrongs black-stained is his throne,
his sword is rusted with curse of those under oppression.
Painting the sky dark yellow approaches the monsoon storm in full power,
the greedy ones are beguiled thinking, this is beautiful twilight hour.
The fire they have spread around the world, now in its flame in turn,
like blazing fire, everywhere, these wretcheds will burn.


The traveler of the path of truth! Don't be afraid, don't fear!
Those who seek peace, defeat is not for them, my dear!
Sometimes the enemies of peace win in their disguise,
at the end only in humiliation and shame comes their inevitable demise.
Dusts of the road rise off the ground as wind blows strong,
if you think, they are on the rise, won't that be wrong?
Those who want to ascend above, these trash stand in their way;
they can make the road slippery, but the mud doesn't win the day.


In tranquility, win or defeat, we will treat the same,
if we win, we will dedicate it to His glory and name.
If we lose, we will be greeted by Him in the hereafter,
if we are battle-wounded, we will be His beloved, forever.
Sometimes they will win, but never shall we retreat!
Our Lord tests us - we will take it as His treat.
Does hatred ever bring back those who are lost?
To win their heart, with love first our heart must defrost.
Those who knowingly practice oppression and take away others' right,
it is against them, the sword of God is always ready and upright.


Don't be hard on those who, in ignorance, go astray!
They might return to the truth, if you show love, and pray!
In His one name, invite people of all nation;
Hold sword in hand, while offer your heart with love and affection.
The whole world would be in your favor, if at you His grace flashes;
all the enemies of the truth, you will see, will burn into ashes.
Those whose hearts among us are stained with temptation,
they also deserve discipline, before facing God's condemnation.


March forward, O the new warriors, indomitable!
Prevent our journey and progress? No one would be able!
Let faith and patience be the lasting friends - yours and mine.
On our path, the light of such and of moon will always shine.
Don't be afraid! Have no fear!
Falsehood will definitely disappear!
Truth will triumph, O my dear!
Those who treat the meek with bloody eyes, finished is their share!
This world belongs to people, not to any throne; declare!


Those who disgrace the blessed power from their power-bed,
at the command of the King of kings, they lose their head.



The rule of the ship-owners is ending; it won't be very long,
to the real king of the universe, all the countries will belong.
O blood-eyed vultures, monsters! Beware, beware!
To beguile others and make forget God's command, how do you dare?
We fear one God only; no one else do we fear!
Our guide is the Omnipotent, our Lord so dear!
Sky, earth, moon, planets, and stars are witnesses, I say,
as to who are the followers of truth, and who go astray.


Don't be afraid; have no fear!
Falsehood will surely disappear!
Truth will be triumphant, my dear!


[Original: Bhoy Koriyo Na, He Manobata; Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]
Read full poem
Bio

Identification and basic context

Kazi Nazrul Islam, often referred to as Nazrul, is the national poet of Bangladesh and a prominent figure in Bengali literature. He was born in the Bengal Presidency of British India and wrote primarily in Bengali. His life spanned a period of significant political and social upheaval in the Indian subcontinent, influencing his revolutionary and humanist themes.

Childhood and education

Nazrul's early life was marked by hardship and a nomadic existence. He received a rudimentary education in a local maktab and later attended a traditional Islamic seminary. However, his formal schooling was interrupted, and he gained much of his knowledge through self-study and life experiences. His early exposure to folk theatre and military life in the British Indian Army played a crucial role in shaping his worldview and literary sensibilities.

Literary trajectory

Nazrul's literary career began in earnest after his return from military service. He quickly gained recognition for his powerful and evocative poetry, which broke from traditional forms and addressed contemporary issues. He was associated with various literary magazines and became a central figure in the burgeoning nationalist movement through his writings. His career was multifaceted, encompassing poetry, songs, short stories, novels, and plays.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Nazrul's most famous works include 'Agni Bina' (The Fiery Lute), 'Bisher Banshi' (The Poison Flute), and 'Chhayanat' (The Dance of Shadow). His poetry is characterized by its intense emotion, revolutionary fervor, and a rich tapestry of imagery drawn from both Islamic and Hindu traditions. He explored themes of love, rebellion, social justice, and spirituality. His style often featured a strong, declamatory tone, using robust Bengali vocabulary and innovative metrical patterns. He also composed a vast number of songs, known as 'Nazrul Geeti', which remain immensely popular.

Cultural and historical context

Nazrul Islam emerged as a significant voice during the Indian independence movement. His writings often carried a strong anti-colonial message, advocating for the rights and dignity of the oppressed. He actively participated in political discourse and was imprisoned by the British for his seditious writings. He was a contemporary of other leading Bengali literary figures and thinkers, engaging with the cultural and intellectual currents of his time. His work reflects the complex interplay of religious, cultural, and political forces shaping Bengal.

Personal life

Nazrul Islam's personal life was marked by significant events, including his time in the army and his subsequent imprisonment. He married Promila Devi, and their life together, though often challenging due to financial difficulties and his activism, was central to his experiences. He experienced periods of intense creative output interspersed with personal struggles. His deep engagement with diverse religious and philosophical ideas, including Sufism and Vedanta, also informed his personal outlook.

Recognition and reception

Nazrul Islam received widespread acclaim during his lifetime and is revered in both Bangladesh and India, particularly in West Bengal. He was awarded the Jagannath University Puraskar and the Ekushey Padak, among other honors. He is celebrated as a national poet in Bangladesh, a testament to his profound impact on the nation's identity and cultural consciousness. His works are widely studied and performed.

Influences and legacy

Nazrul was influenced by a range of literary traditions, including classical Bengali poetry, Persian poetry, and the writings of figures like Swami Vivekananda. He, in turn, profoundly influenced subsequent generations of Bengali poets, writers, and musicians. His legacy lies in his fearless articulation of freedom and humanism, his synthesis of diverse cultural elements, and his enduring contribution to Bengali literature and music. His songs, in particular, continue to be a vital part of Bengali cultural life.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Critical analysis of Nazrul's work often focuses on his revolutionary zeal, his syncretic approach to religion and culture, and his ability to articulate the aspirations of the common people. Some scholars explore the nuances of his spiritual and philosophical explorations, while others examine his role as a cultural icon and national poet. His poetry is seen as a powerful expression of Bengali identity and a call for social justice.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Nazrul was known for his multilingualism and his ability to incorporate diverse linguistic influences into his work. He was also a talented musician and composer, creating many of the melodies for his songs. Despite his immense literary output and national recognition, he faced significant financial difficulties throughout his life. A lesser-known aspect is his participation in folk theatre troupes in his youth, which greatly enriched his understanding of popular culture.

Death and memory

Kazi Nazrul Islam suffered from a prolonged illness in his later years, which led to aphasia and rendered him unable to write or speak. He passed away in Dhaka, Bangladesh. His death was mourned across the subcontinent. He is buried at the University of Dhaka campus, and his memory is kept alive through numerous institutions, festivals, and the continued performance and study of his vast body of work.

Poems

98

I'll Hide in Song after Song

I'll Hide in Song after Song

To-day my pensive mood
I'll hide in song after song
I'll expose my soul turning
the thorny wound into a flower,


To forget your neglect
I will sing all the while
The greater the shocks
the more tuneful my violin.


If absent-mindedly the flower is torn
I'll make a garland of it
And give it to you as a
gift when you arrive


By the fountain of my tunes
I'll compose divine music
You'll bathe in the stream
of those tunes and arise


I'll strike a rhyme out of word after word,
oh poet are you content now.
Your mind is desolate, your empty,
your soul without joy.


[Original: Aji gane gane dhakbo; Translation: Abu Rushd]
593

If I was Daddy, and Daddy was Me

If I was Daddy, and Daddy was Me

If I was Daddy and Daddy was Khoka (that's me),

if he didn't finish memorizing the multiplication tables I'd tap him on the head!
If everyday was Sunday,
Oh, what fun that would be


no more multiplication tables, writing, drawing-measuring,
if I was Daddy and Daddy was Khoka (that's me)!
[Orijinal: Ami jodi baba hotam; Translation: Sajed Kamal]
575

I Know Your Compassion Mother

I Know Your Compassion Mother

I know your compassion Mother and hence await better days.
I may meanwhile be battered with losses, want and debt.
You cause me pain only to take me to your Bosom.
Can any mother remain indifferent after inflicting pain on her child.
I know that you are more kind than hard-hearted
So the more you frighten me the closer r get to your Bosom.
There might be good reason for your chiding me.
Just because you make me weep and wince


I cannot say I have no mother.

[Original: Koruna tor jani mago; Translation: Abu Rushd]
533

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]
613

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]
2,008

I am a Proud Muslim Woman

I am a Proud Muslim Woman

I am a proud muslim woman,
I'm the scent of a flower in the household-desert.


The dark Ka'aba I've illuminated with a light,
and on Eid-day brought a plate of gifts.
I was the first to be converted,
I was the first to garland the prophet.
I have sacrificed my son, my husband,
my relations in the battles of karbala and badar
That is known to all the planets,
and to Allah.


[Ami gorobini muslim bala; Translation: Abu Rushd]
731

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]
511

Hope

Hope


Perhaps we shall meet,
Where the bending sky kisses
The green wilderness.


Yonder, in the village field
On the ridges or the desolate quay
Perhaps you shall come smiling;
And clasp my arms.


Your unveiled glances,
In that impervious blue
Bring the secret message
From the southern breeze.


In the chinks of wilderness;
Oh dear;
Your gentle kisses on my eyes
Remain enshrined.
In the horizon's golden hue.


[Translation: Syed Mujibul Huq]
490

God

God


Who are you, my friend,
searching for God in heaven
and the underworld?
Who are you-searching
through the wilderness
and mountain peaks?
It's a pity-O Rishis and Dervishes,
you go on searching for Him
from country to country
while holding the Jewel of the Heart
in your own heart!
The whole creation looks at you
while your own eyes are shut.
You search for the creator
instead of searching for your self.
O self-inflicted Blind-open your eyes,
look at yourself in the mirror.
You'll see-His shadow falls on your body.
Don't shudder, Hero,
don't be intimidated
by the scholars of the scripturesthey're
not God's 'private secretaries'
We all are His manifestation,
He is present in us all.
Seeing myself, I see the unseen Creator..
The merchants at the seaport trade in gems.
But never ask them where the gems are mined.
They are merely traders of gems,
but they think that they know where the mine is too!
They have never taken a dive
into the fathomless depth of the gem-bearing ocean.
Instead of messing with the scriptures,
my friend, dive right into
the ocean of Truth!


[Translation: Sajed Kamal]
618

Grief-Laden Mid-Night

Grief-Laden Mid-Night

In this still solitude of deep mid-night
Tears unbidden appear in my eyes
What recollection doth enrapture
Whose disregard doth agonize the breast?
What wail of disappointment doth in
the bottom of her heart arise and start
a flood of tears?


The agony of my unfulfilled life
I cannot conceal this mid-night,
Thus in the privacy of my solitary,
bed I do but burst into overflowing tears.


On such a night arose once a hundred
desires in my bosom and now their
despondency is writ large in that
drooping Shefalika and in the
pathos of the Purabi strains.


[Translation: Abdul Hakim]
605

Videos

50

Comments (0)

Share
Log in to post a comment.

No comments yet. Be the first to comment.