Thumi Ami Dujon Priyo, You are my Beloved God.

, Shwapne dekhi ekti nothun ghor, thumi ami dujon priyo thumi ami dujon, bahire bokul bone, kuhu papiya kore gunjon, swapne dekhi ekti nothun ghor, abeshe dhule phuloshojai shui, mukti pae haashe molika jui, kane kane bole, chinechi, aui uthol shomiron, tumi …purnima chand koi ganar shurr chonchol ora dujon, premo jyoti anondo obirol chol chol, moumachi koi guun guun gayi, mukho mukhi dujone shekhan jaai sharoti au shefali gauye pore koi brojer madhubon eitho brojer madhubon, thumi ami dujon priyo swapne dekhi ekti nothun ghor.

YOU and I are together and finally see a new home. Outside in the forest of the bokul trees, birds sing glory. Excited, flowers fall and welcome You. Having won salvation the ruler jasmine flowers delight. They speak softly to the ears of the world, recognize, remember your Master. The moon speaks of a song representing the reunion of God and human beings as restless moods. Light the candle of love so that happiness spreads quickly. The bees sing praises to herald the new beginning, God.  The shefali or jasmine flowers cascade down in Brindavan, the beloved abode of Lord Krishna. The Lord creates a new home that can only be assembled in dreams.

Traveller wipe the tears from your eyes. Translation from Bengali of Poet Nazrul Islam.

journey

Traveller wipe the tears from your eyes and turn back. Your flowers blossomed within themselves. Traveller, companion wipe your eyes let us go back. O crazy one what misfortune has befallen that you want to build your home on this flood? Yet the thirst for what is here is never quenched hold as you do on to the trivial. Friend wipe your eyes. In the rain when the seasonal flowers did not bloom, do you think that they will bloom now? In this country only wrongdoing occurs, filling ears with hopelessness.  O poet how many occasions will you bring to the festival in order to light the spark of your life? Your gardener never came leaving you abandoned. Traveller, wipe the tears of your face and turn away now.

Gul Bagicha, In the deceptive garden, gul also means a story. Feroza Begum, vocalist of Bangladesh. Poetry of Kazi Nazrul Islam.

Gulabāgichār bulbuli āmi rogin prēmēr gā’i gazal hai. Onurāgēr lāl śhārāb mōr chokhe chole jholomol (hāẏe).Āmār gānēr modir chōẏāẏ gōlāp kurir ghum ṭuṭē jāẏ,shae gān śhunē prēm dī’vānā kobir āan̐khi cholochol (hāẏ)lāl śhirājer gēlāsh hathē thannī shākī poṛē ḍhulē,āmār gānēr miṭhā pānir lohor bohē nohor phūlē. Phuṭē oṭhē ānārkoli nāchē bhromor roṅg pāgol (hāẏ)

I am that bird of gardens who sings of a young love. A dazzling love which is reflected in the poet’s wine filled eyes. Listening to the music, flower buds awakened. And hearing it the poet’s eyes brightened. Taking his goblet his friends have gathered; their sweetness bathing waters where the lotus blooms. Again the young buds danced like a bee, crazy as the season in which they were born.

The fullness of bidrohi, (revolutionary) poet, Kazi_Nazrul_Islam. Gogone Shogone Chomokiche Damini. Vocalist Haimanti Shukla.

lightning

Gogone shogone chomokiche damini  megho ghono rosho rimijhimi borosho akela pobone boshi batayone potho chahi birohini kamini gogone shogone chomokiche damini, pubali  pobono hai daduri  daake obhishare  jole khuje kahake boiragini shaje unmona damini gogone shogone chomokiche damini megho ghono rosho rinijhimi borosho, akela bhupali pobono bar daduri daake obhishare jole khuje kahanke bairagini shaje unmona damini, gogone.. megho ghono rosho rimijhimi borosho, akela pobone boshi batayone potho chahi birohini  kamini, gogone shogone chomokiche damini….

In the cloudy sky lightning strikes making melodious music of the rain. Seated by the window, the lonely  show the way for renunciates to return home. The eastern breeze speaks of the chatter of frogs calling all lovers to their trysts. Who do they search for? It is lightning dressed as if it were under water.  In the cloudy sky it makes melodious music of the rain. Solitary frogs reunite truant lovers. I seated alone by the window ask for the way home. In the cloudy sky the lightning strikes making melodious music of the rain.

Megho Meduro Boroshai. Vocalist H. Shukla. Songs by the poet, Nazrul Islam. Yerushalaim Shel Zahav Jerusalém of Gold by Shuli Natan.

Megho meduro boroshai kothai tumi phulo choraye kaande bunobhumi, Megho meduro boroshai, boroshai kothai tumi, megho ….jhure bari dhara phire aesho pothohara kaande nodi thoto chumi megho meduro boroshai kothai tumi.  In a cloudless sky where are you hidden in the rain God? The strewn flowers make the earth and forests cry. The rainfall makes paths clear for those who have lost their way.  Seeing, the  river kissed.  Within the cloudless sky why are You hidden in the rain?  Yerushalaim Shel Zahav Jerusalém of Gold. Sung by Shuli Natan. blackswan

Ancient Jerusalem Made Holy.

Ancient Jerusalem Made Holy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 ם צלול כיין וריח אורנים נישא ברוח הערביים עם קול פעמונים.ובתרדמת אילן ואבןשבויה בחלומההעיר אשר בדד יושבתובליבה חומהירושלים של זהבושל נחושת ושל אורהלא לכל שירייךאני כינור…חזרנו אל בורות המיםלשוק ולכיכרשופר קורא בהר הביתבעיר העתיקה.ובמערות אשר בסלעאלפי שמשות זורחותנשוב נרד אל ים המלחבדרך יריחו.אך בבואי היום לשיר לךולך לקשור כתריםקטונתי מצעיר בנייךומאחרון המשוררים.כי שמך צורב את השפתייםכנשיקת שרףאם אשכחך ירושליםאשר כולה זהבירושלים של זהב. Jerusalem of Gold. The mountain air is clear as wine, And the scent of pines Is carried on the breeze of twilight With the sound of bells. And in the slumber of tree and stone, Captured in her dream The city that sits solitary And in its midst is a wall. Jerusalem of gold, and of bronze, and of light Behold I am a violin, for all your songs. We have returned to the cisterns To the market and to the market-place A ram’s horn (shofar) calls out (i.e. is being heard) on the Temple Mount. In the Old City.  And in the caves in the mountain Thousands of suns shine -We will once again descend to the Dead Sea By way of Jericho! Jerusalem of gold, and of bronze and of light. Behold I am a violin for all your songs. But as I come to sing to you today, And to adorn crowns to you (i.e. to tell your praise) I am the smallest of the youngest of your children (i.e. the least worthy of doing so) And of the last poet (i.e. of all the poets born). For your name scorches the lips Like the kiss of a seraph If I forget thee, Jerusalem, Which is all gold…Jerusalem of gold, and of bronze, and of light Behold I am a violin for all your songs. Torah. Teaching, a moral law. violin

 

 

Musafir Mochre Aankhi Jol-Traveller, Friend Wipe The Tears From Your Eyes-Songs of poet Nazrul Islam.

journey

Musafir mochre aankhi jol phire chol apanare niya apone phute chilo phul, kiache apone choriya, musafir mochre aankhi jol, re pagol eki durasha jole tui bhadh bi basha, mete na hethai piyasha,  jethaanai trisha dhoriya musafir moch re ankhi jol, boroshai phutlo na bakul,payush phut be ki she phul, ae deshe jhare shudhu bhool, nirashar kanon bhoriya, musafir moche re abi katoi deyali jalili tor alo jali, alona tor bonomali andhar tori dhuliya musafir moch ankhi jol phire chol.  Traveller wipe the tears from your eyes, and turn back taking yourself with you. Your flowers blossomed within themselves. Traveller, companion wipe your eyes let us go back. O crazy one what misfortune has befallen that you want to build your home on this flood. Yet the thirst for what is here is never quenched, hold as you do on to even the trivial. Friend wipe your eyes. In the rain when the seasonal flowers did not bloom, do you think that they will bloom now? In this country only wrongdoing occurs, filling ears with hopelessness.  O poet how many occasions will you bind to the festival in order to light the spark of your being? Your Gardener never came leaving you alone and abandoned. Traveller, wipe the tears of your face and turn away now.