Man (Poem By Kazi Nazrul Islam) Poem by Sayeed Abubakar

I sing the song of equality—
There is nothing greater than man,
More majestic than man.
There is no difference of country, age and person;
No partition in religion and caste;
Man is man's kinsman throughout all ages
In all countries, in every house.

‘O worshiper, open the door!
The god of hunger is at your doorstep
And it's the time to worship! '
Awakened by such a dream,
The agitated priest opened the door of temple.
Surely, he might be a king today
With the boon of god, he thought.
A wayfarer with shabby dress
Whose body was thin
And hungry voice was feeble,
Said, ‘Open the door, o Father;
I have been hungry for seven days.'

Suddenly the temple got closed;
Went back the hungry man.
It was dark night;
The gem of his hunger burnt on his way.
The hungry man said loudly,
‘O God! That temple
Belongs to the priest, not to you.'

Yesterday there was sweetmeat at mosque;
Immense meat and bread remained uneaten;
So, the mollah was overjoyed.
That very moment, a traveler came
Wearing shabby dress
And said, ‘O Father,
I have been unfed for seven days.'
Getting annoyed, the mollah said,
‘What a botheration!
You are hungry—then die
Going to the ground for dumping dead cows!
O chap, do you say your prayers? '
The hungry traveler said, `No, Father! '
The mollah shouted, ‘Then o rascal, get out! '
Carrying meat and bread,
He locked the door of mosque.
The hungry traveler went back
And said walking, ‘O God!
I have lived for eighty years
And never called upon you.
Yet you have never deprived me
Of my food.
Now in your mosque and temple
There is no right of man.
Mollah and priest
Have locked all their doors.'

Where are you, O Genghis,
Mahmud of Ghazni
And Kala Pahar?
Break down all the locked doors
Of the house of worship!
Who shuts the doors of the house of God?
Who puts locks on them?
All its doors will remain unlocked—
Strike them with hammers and crowbars.

O the House of God,
The hypocrites sing of the victory
Of their self-interest
Climbing over your minaret!

Having hated human beings,
Who are they
Kissing the Quran,
The Vedas,
The Bible?
Fie! What a shame!
Snatch away those scriptures by force
From their mouths.
The hypocrites worship books
By killing those who have, in fact,
Brought these books on earth!
O the ignorant, listen:
It is man who has brought the books,
Books have not brought any man.
Adam, David, Jesus, Moses,
Abraham, Mohammad,
Krishna, Buddha, Nanak, Kabir—
All are the treasures of the world;
They are our forefathers;
Their blood, more or less, runs through our veins.
We are their children, kinsmen—
We are of the same body;
Who knows when some of us may become
Like them!

Don't laugh, my friend!
The self within me
Is fathomless and infinite;
Do I know or does any body know
Who the great exists in me?
Perhaps Kalki is emerging in me,
Mahdi and Jesus in you;
Who knows what is one's limit or origin?
Who can find one's trace?
Whom do you hate, O brother,
Whom do you kick?
Perhaps God resides day and night
Within his heart!
Or prhaps he is nothing—
Not great, not of high esteem;
He is just covered with filth, badly wounded
And burning in the flame of sorrow;
Yet all the holy books
And the houses of worship of the world
Are not as holy as that tiny body of him!
Perhaps in his semen,
In his cottage
Someone will be born
Unmatched in the history of the world.
Perhaps he, who will deliver such a speech
The world has not yet heard
And whose great power
The world has not yet witnessed,
Is coming in his house!

Who is he? A Chandal? Why do you startle?
He is no despicable being.
He may be Harishchandra
Or Shiva of crematorium.
Today he is Chandal,
Tomorrow he may be a great yogi-emperor;
You will come to him with offerings
And sing of his eulogy.
Whom do you neglect as a shepherd?
That negligence
Plays on someone's flute.
Perhaps Gopal of Brojo has come
In a shepherd's disguise.

You hate a man for his being a peasant!
Observe whether father Balarama
Has come in a peasant's disguise.
All the prophets were the shepherds of lambs;
They ploughed too,
And those very men
Carried the eternal messages
That exist till now
And will exist for ever.
Every day begging men and women
Turn away from each door;
Perhaps Bholanath and Girijaya
Came among them—
We could not recognize.
You were in fear that you might lose
Your wealth if you gave alms;
Therefore, you made your doorman
Beat the beggar
And thus you chased away a god.
Those beatings are recorded;
Who knows whether you are forgiven
By the humiliated goddess!
O friend, your bosom is full of greed,
Your two eyes are full of self-interest;
Otherwise you could see
The god became a coolie to serve you.
O beast, will you plunder the god
Within a man's heart
And the nectar churned out of his pain
To appease your hunger?
Your Mandodari the food of your hunger
Knows well, in which location of your palace
Lies your death-arrow.
O beast, through the ages,
Your desire-queen has dragged you
Into your death-holes.

03 0.3.2016 Sirajganj