Kazi Nazrul Islam Poems

Kazi Nazrul Islam was a Bengali poet, composer, artist, and also innovative. Kazi Nazrul Islam Poems is actually the nationwide poems of Bangladesh. Popularly called Nazrul, he created a huge system of Bengali Poetry and also music with designs. People searches his poetry like Kazi Nazrul Islam Poems, Kazi Nazrul Islam Kobita, Kazi Nazrul Islam Poetry, Kazi Nazrul Islam Poems In Bengali etc. Kazi Nazrul Islam poems always were in Bengali but it is translated in English, Hindi, Spanish, Portuguese etc. Kazi Nazrul Islam has written and also made of a lot of bhajans, shyamasangeet, agamanis, and also kirtans.

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Kazi Nazrul Islam Poems

When I shall be no more
You will suffer, I promise,
Cursed, friendless and alone.
Then you will ask the evening star about me,
And with my picture engrave, fin your heart
Will roam through forests and seas
And around hills and dales,
Weeping many a desolate tear.
Then you will realise, my dear,
Then you will search for me desperately
Far and near.
When your soul will tremble
At some one’s familiar touch,
And your heart will gladden
Imagining my presence by your bed,
You will suddenly wake up with a start
From your sleep,
And discover with a freezing heart
That it was nothing but an empty dream.
The one who was sent for everyone, in his own case
He was deprived of parental affection, a shelter or a place.

So that he will be in tune with all the souls’ pain,
The Ever Mysterious sent to this world this hapless chieftain.

For anyone who is an orphan, miserable, or destitute
He would be on his side with the most loving attitude.

Striking him with pain and suffering, again and again
God sent him to the world arena like a needy: simple and plain.

With the divine vision, to be the guide to light
He came to remove the veil of darkness and plight.

In empathy with the world’s countless deprived or orphans
He would soothe and wipe tears – according to the Lord’s plans.

God sent His beloved depriving all the love,
The friend of the poor, an orphan himself, appeared from above.

The fatherless child then lost his mother – now more pains to learn,
Ah, the beloved of the Divine! The river of his sorrow turned only into an ocean.

[Original: Sharbohara (Bengali)
Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]

Kazi Nazrul Islamer Kobita

Encircled by the water-waves of suffering –
the shoal of quicksand,
O insane! Who built a shack there
with your precious hand?
Lightening reveals a new attitude,
Leave this neighborhood, O destitute!
The flowing tear of motherly cloud
is raining over your head; and
The land over there is calling you,
waving its plants and trees’ band.
Your daughters are flood-slaughtered –
weeping bitterly,
They are being invited today
by the ocean, motherly.
O boatman! O boatman!
Lift your sail – delay? – no more you can,
Your ride is like a stormy fan,
swinging on the waves of sea.
O boatman! Why more delay?
Lift your anchor, let it be free.
Here in the broken life’s span,
your time is almost gone!
Look, your gazelle, O boatman,
eyes at the shore for a new dawn.
Your friends have already begun the voyage,
as the night sets its dark stage,
mat-bound your shoulder’s edge,
Don’t, any more, live in yawn!
To give up the tie of this bondage,
how much more you need to be overdrawn?
Diamond or jewels, you didn’t seek;
Millionaire’s rich you didn’t cherish;
Your want is of a miserable meek –
That’s as small as a potter’s dish.
You sought to sleep in peace,
And, a small mat, even if torn, apiece,
A lamp offering light’s kiss,
A small shack with a door, is what you wish!
Enough of death’s hanging shadow, or illness’ hiss,
No more burglars stealing your fish.
O boatman, sail your boat now
toward land, ashore.
From the hard soil
let your soft feet be bloodied, like never before!
You will roam around as a storm;
You will traverse through places of soft or rugged form;
Approaching rains, like dance they perform,
as they swirl from the Indus river’s floor.
Come on, the riders of water now
to the land that invites you to its door.
In the ecstasy of creation today
Laughs my face, smile my eyes
Glows my boiling blood
In the brook of my shuttered soul
The roaring tide brings the flood.
Streams laughter, tears together
Freedom comes, unity nearer.
Opens my mouth, heart cries
From bitter sorrows bliss arise
There comes the forlorn breast’s cry of woe
In the ecstasy of creation today ho!
Comes desolation, breaths dejection
Heart rending sigh beyond creation.
Swelling the sea, blowing the wind, shaking the firmament
Exploding in the space,
God Vishnu’s wheel is flying
Sparks in the air,
God Shivas landing – trident.
Behold! the Comet with the meteors
Out to over turn the creation-doors
Watching which today
Flowers of a million garden
Dance in my heart with gay
In the ecstasy of new order today.

Translation: Rezaul Karim Talukdar

Kazi Nazrul Islam Poetry

Come, make merry and rejoice.
There rages the summer storm
flying the flag of the New and the Young,

There comes he who had not come so long;
Dancing merrily
drink we will the joy of destruction.
There comes the Terrible
like the fierce executioner of eternal time
across the dark well of death
through smouldering smoke
lighting the torch of thunder.
There, listen to his ringing laughter.
Come, make merry and rejoice!

The wavy locks of his hair
make the sky rock and swing.
Even the ominous comet is at his service.
His blood, like an unsheathed sword,
rocks the bosom of the father of the universe.
Look, this wild tumultuous tunnoil
has made the sky and the earth still and numb
Come, make merry and rejoice.

A dozen suns glitter and shine in his burning eyes
And the sorrows of the world cluster in his
tangled and disheveled hair.
A single dropp of his tear
makes the seven seas roll and swell.
In his giant arms he crakles the mother-earth
and cries out, ‘Welcome, Destruction! ‘
Come, comrades, make merry and rejoice, ‘

Oh, have no fear!
The deluge will soon overtake the universe.
The final hour is fast drawing near.
The rotting old and the dying decrepit
will now be wiped out for good.
Now at last at the end of the long night of darkness
The glorious dawn will come with a smile
in her soft and tender dress.
Look, there the young moon shines in his unkempt hair.

I sing the song
Of equality,
Where all status and class
Become triviality.
The Rendezvous of Hindu, Buddhist,
Muslim or those of Christianity,
I sing the song
Of equality!

Who are you? Persian? Jain?
Shaotal, Til, Garo? Jew?
Confucian? Charvaka-disciple?
Anything else; something new?

My friend!
Be whatever you are,
Or, whatever book or scroll you carry
in your head or on your shoulder.

Vedas, Tripitak,
Or Quran – Puran,
Avesta or another,
read as much as you like or can.

But why this foolhardiness
Whacking your head with all your power,
Why so much haggling in the market,
When at your roadside blooms fresh beautiful flower?

Right in you resides
The essence of all books, of all time,
In every scripture you will find this,
My friend, if you just open your heart sublime.

Your heart hosts faith’s essence
And of all that you deem holy,
Your heart is the world-altar
representing all the divine, wholly.

Why do you seek the holy or divine
in the skeletons of scrolls dead?
He smiles behind the curtain
right in your soul-bed.

My friend, believe me
I am not lying,
To bow in your adoration,
All the crowns are dying.

Kazi Nazrul Islam Poems In Bengali

Eons go by awaiting in hope’s path
Like a desert traveler with no oasis in sight
Years Come and go quenching my thirst with tear drops
Burning the elusive lamp with hopeless mirages
The desert cactus beckons in million melodies.
This desert was a tumultuous sea one time
In my dreams I can still envision, but alas a wandering traveler.
On that sea shore the ship that drowned
Still searching in vain the shipmate rowing along the desert path.

[Original: Jonom Jonom Gelo; Translation: Kashfia Billah]
Behold, we are saved! There moves
the sky that had so long been obstructed
by a Himalayan Peak!
From underneath the snow on the
highest peak of the Himalayas awaketh
Sabyasachi,
Across the gloom of the Dwaper age
awaketh the great eremite,
Awaketh the great herb of the Mahabharata,
Sayeth: ‘I am come! ‘
Lo! The ethereal firmament of old
doth dance in the jocund streams
of New Life!
Awaketh across the undiscovered
Exile of awful time, Partha the Epic Hero:
His Gandiva Bow is bathed in
dazzling red hue!
The Panchajanya trumpet doth blow,
The chariot and horses are ready,
The fighters give the war-cry,
The forests are tempest-tossed.
The Pandemonium itself is agitated,
In the cradle doth smile life enamoured
of Death!
In every age get a hew lease of life
the vanquished forces of Evil,
They are bondsmen of Duryodhana,
hired hell-hounds of Dushashana!
On the bloody fields of Lanka
and Kurukshetra,
In the greedy eyes of the demon
of avarice,
On the scaffold, in the
whipping Prison house,
These emissaries of Satan are
well-known!
Is it the idea that no body shall
have to pay the penalty for it?
Nemesis turns full circle!
Today the highest, tomorrow the lowest:
Today a victor, tomorrow a victim:
In a cottage is born the King’s antagonist;
Within the prison walls of a Tyrant Kansa
is born his future Killer:
Nrisingha the Redeemer bursts
out of the breast which is
kicked by the Tyrant:.

Kazi Nazrul Islam Poems

O the nameless eternal child
you have come across unknown lands,
what ornament of name you have put on!
What a prison it is for the chainless!

Tell me, by what name I’ll call you again
to my heart’s content,
you lost your way from this home
where you lived, where you do come back
over and over again losing your own name.

O my sweet dear,
you are the radiant pearl of my dark home
filling the hungry home with little butter
your tiny hand has brought.

That today in intimate happiness
a sea of wailing swells up in my bosom
to call you by a new name,
who is there to stop my voice
my mind, too, utterly dejected.

You came from settling down, O traveller
stepping toward rising up.

[ Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]
Behold! Pilgrims come at night
To board the ferry boat,
What’s it that roars like thunder bolt?
Or is it the trumpet of universal doom?
And the storms and tempests deepen in the horizon!

See in the sea of sin dance high waves!
The terrible Night of death awful naked!
The demon swallows the universe outright
In fear tremble the helpless sinners of the boat.

Enveloped in darkness pitch dark ‘Qiyamat’ night,
Hopeless to cross the sea are drowned the passengers,
With sudden violence the rolling clouds roar,
And terrible lightnings appear,
And the Night trembes with trumpet sound!

Across such tempestuous sea
In cataclysmic dance,
Whose boat is it that fearlessly
plugs the waves-
In defiance of the thundering noise of the sea,
And the threatening trumpet sound of Doom.

Lo! Innocent are these pilgrims
Of the path of virtue.
Pure is their heart, well-protected
With the armor of truth
They are not frightened
Even by the fall of a thunderbolt;
Ahmad (Peace be upon him) is the Boatman,
And the Boat is replete with all requirements.
Abu Bakr, Usman, Umar, Ali Haider,
Are the crew of this Boat.
So, the passengers need not fear!
The Boatman and his companions
Are all expert hands,
And ‘Allah has no partner’
Is the burden of their songs!

On the admiral-staff is unfurled
The sail of salvation,
From Paradise strew heaps
of flowers the flowery Huries.
O pilgrims for the other shore!
Sing loudly your ‘Sari’- songs
With your heads down with humility,
And eyes full of a soft and serene expression
Of love and benignity.
Vain and futile are the threats
Of the sea-in-anger,
And howling tempests,
Behold the Pilgrims of Truth
Are safe on the other shore!

Kazi Nazrul Islamer Kobita

The first bud of love withers away at the first moment of meeting;
He did not heed her pleas, but flew into the deep woods.
The spring air blooms all flowers,
Alas! my flower wilts away;
Every home lights up, but my lamp flickers away at twilight
Garland of wild flowers cry out around my neck,
I sob in solace rolling in the dusty road like torn ivy.
With intolerable thirst at the mouth of the sea
Fall down on the sandy breast of the shore
Taking me for a smoky cloud, the bird ignores me
I scathe from the fire of your absence.
The martyr’s Eid has come today.
On the martyr’s head rests his blood-stained cap.
In the name of God he begs of us all;
Make your offerings of God
who is more dear to you than your most
precious jewellery.
I want no false pearls,
no cheap trickery

I want no cow, no lamb, no camel.
What, after all, do such gifts mean?
They are petty and false.
I want true Korbani,
I do not want any hypocritical offerings.
What is needed to uphold Islam’s prestige
is your life and the life of your son.
Can you offer these?
Is there anywhere a true Muslim?

You cheat, you swindler,
do not shame yourself any more.
Do you want to acquire virtue
by offering cows as bribes?
Even if you somehow manage
to cross the Pulserat with your cows
what answer will you give
to your prophet Mohammad?

When he will ask you, O unfaithful,
what have you done for Islam?
Letting Islam go to hell
you have come to heaven yourself!
O demon, greedy for false sanctity,
utterly selfish to the core!
Don’t let me ever see your face.
I blush at your shameless conduct.

Kazi Nazrul Islam Poetry

Lo! Winter comes!
She comes across an ocean of sorrow and tears.
Beware! Beware!
She comes from behind the horizon enveloped
in thick mist.
With her advent, alas! in the Ieafy forest
A farewell dirge seems to go round
The parting Day (Ah me!) casts a sad look
Losing as she does-the Evening Star that
lights her path.
See! Winter sets in –
She represents the sadness of the year’s
journey, a loss of Eternity,
The farewell season of ripe paddy,
the dread of new arrival-
Beware! Beware! She is come! –
Dry breath, and Oh! the choked voice
of a farewell deeply laden with tears –
Arise, wayfarer! Thou hast to cover
a long distance casting a sad look
from thy black eyes.
The moon descended from your sky’
to play in sea-water,
the embankment is erected
lest it does not flee, far and near,

No more to sleep, no more;
the thief moved around and broke the doors;
now take the thief captive under your arms,
shedding tears to your heart’s content.

Kazi Nazrul Islam Poems In Bengali 

The more I take Muhammad’s name
The sweeter it seems to me.
Who knew before that in this name
So much of honey could be!

For the honey of this very name,
The bee of my mind doth hum and flirt
And for the love of this very name,
I have lost my hunger and thirst!

Dearest to me is this name,
Which, like Majnun, I take:
And the nightingale sings
In the rose-bower of my soul
For this name’s sake!

For this very name I roam
And wend my way in life:
For this very name I do discard
Even the kingly throne!
May this name, a God! This blessed name
My mind perpetually pervade!