Kazi Nazrul Islam

(24 May 1899 - 29 August 1976 / Bardhaman / India)

Anwar - Poem by Kazi Nazrul Islam

[A dark prison-house guarded by sentries at Constantinople. Thc mid-night of a new moon with silence prevailing everywhere, except occasional footsieps of sentries walking with heavy boots. A young soldier belonging to the National Army under the command of Anwar is lying captive there. Although rebellious in appearance, he looks older than his age. Today he has faced a Court Martial. Tomorrow he will be shot dead. So this is the last night of the luckless warrior fastened by iron chains around his limbs'. Suddenly he wakes up.Shouting, but finds nobody nearby. Only cold wind weeps for him, 'O the motherless'! ' The young rebel bites his left arm, loosing temper as he remembers' the treachery of his countrymen. He remembers his commander, who gave him the weapons to free his motherland. He shouts loudly calling his commander, 'ANWAR'.]

Anwar. Anwar.

Valiant as you are,
Drive your sword hard,
Kill them all, and annihilate those beasts

Anwar, alas!
It's but an irony of fate that
the b1ood has no more that warmth and valour,
The shamsir is broken, its scabbard left-over.

Anwar! Anwar!
What makes you cry if everything goes undisturbed?
Look, muslims are pet animals in today's world.

No more, Anwar, no more!
Whose heart does not tremble?
The sword shines no more, Smarna is insignificant, as well.
Lool there tremble the gates of Madina.
No more Anwar, no more. Anwar! Anwar!
Tear the chest apart and bring out the liver,
Kill them all, kill all those coward beasts.

Anwar! are we pigs in chain?
The chain jingles on, and listen,
the fountain of flame is almost extinguished.
Our necks are in shackles, too.

Anwar! Anwar!
Why does the poor fox jump and brag?
Where is that mighty lion? - Anwar is full of wounds.
Anwar! it's really hard to wake up a narrow heart.
It is not least aware of the wild fire that comes all around.
My brother plays the part of a satan, he bribes me with his feast.
Anwar! we are, indeed, in a fix.

Anwar! Anwar!
We are all non-believers, having not even half the heart.
Where do you look for muslims? - they are all wild beasts.

Anwar! everything ends indeed,
Though the blood remains in the veins!
The occident has robbed you of your fake sword. I
t is now womanlike to surrender, weeping,
Anwar, although ends everything.

Anwar! Anwar!
It is useless to repent in this barren land.
Those, who are still living, are maddened animals.
Anwar! none is there. Weapon? - no, nowhere.
The sea is also dreadfully stagnant and dark, having no waves.
Even the beduin has put on shackles around his neck.
Anwar! none is left any more.

Anwar! Anwar!
He who calls him a muslim, drag him by his tongue.
The unfaithful knows only to save his own life.

Anwar, what a pity!
They have beggar's bags on their shoulders,
who learnt the lesson of liberty with the sword in hand.
The intrepid have turned disgusted today.
Anwar, what a pity!

Anwar! Anwar!
The world is now ruled by the killers,
Why then to abide by bloodred eyes! -
Devilry is today's tricks, indeed.

Anwar! hold your fists firm!
They persuade us in vain,
The suffering rebel heart dances in storms,
The blood-eater swords want the war,
Anwar, hold your fist firm.

Anwar! Anwar!
You are a Pasha, now turn a destroyer of muslim beasts,
The home is full of enemies, why do you hit the outsiders?
Come Anwar, O my brother,
I want today end of everything,
Islam, too, sets in; nowhere exists a liberated homeland!
So we have worn the guise of a beggar leaving aside the sword.
Come Anwar, a my brother.

(Suddenly a negro sentry shouted challengingly, 'Get alert, young man', The blood in young man's vein boiled in agitation, He, too, shouted like a young lion.)

a Khuda! a Ali! Take my sword,

(Then the image of the chained mother-Turkey flashed before his eyes. Beside it the image of his own mother appealed in the guise of a chained beggar-maid. Eye-corners of both of them held drops of tears. Shocked as he was, the son turned his face aside and cried out)

Who is it'? Deprived and deceived'?
No, mother, no,
It's no use afflicting a dead heart with a scar.
Anwar! Anwar!

(The coward sentry again tortured the young captive, who groaned in pain. I firmly believe with my eyes full of tears, 'Days are near, good days'.)


[Original: Anwar; Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 30, 2012


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