📖 The Radiance of Divine Majesty

by Azaha Sultan

Foreword

The book was first published under the title “Roushan Jalal.” It was a lyrical anthology brought to light many years ago. The exact year, date, or even the name of the publisher has faded from memory. Perhaps it was a house named Tania Book Depo—perhaps.

The second edition appeared under a new name, “Rowja,” published by Jolchhobi Prokashon in June 2021. Yet not all songs or lyrical pieces from Roushan Jalal found place in Rowja. The reason behind this omission was already mentioned in the first preface of Rowja.

After its initial publication, I noticed some minor flaws—errors in words and lines—insignificant, yet noticeable. Such imperfections are only natural, for absolute perfection in creation is beyond human reach. Therefore, this edition is an effort to purify, to refine, and to present the work with more clarity and sincerity. Still, I cannot call it perfect or pure, for when man himself is imperfect, how can his creation be flawless?

In this lyrical epic, I have tried to trace the journey from birth to death, and from death to the field of Resurrection. It holds stories of people and life, of parents and children, of joy and sorrow, of heart and mortality, of homeland and humanity. There is hardly any fragment of life—social or spiritual, personal or universal—that I have not tried to express in verse or song.

Whether the outcome is good or flawed, right or wrong, I do not know. The judgment belongs to you—the readers. I believe a writer may have three eyes, but the reader possesses four. The reader always sees deeper, clearer, and more consciously than the creator.

Poetry is a path of devotion, but song—or lyrical poetry—is an even higher form of it. Every creation is born of a seeker’s lifelong pursuit. To some, it may taste like nectar; to others, like poison. That too is natural. The creator alone bears the responsibility of that duality.

With that sense of responsibility, I can only say this: no work born of long, tireless labour should ever be dismissed as nothing. This book has taken years—many years—to complete. Whether it finds fulfilment or not, I am grateful that I could at least bring it to completion.

In this age, to expect success from such an endeavour is perhaps folly. So I do not seek success. Literature seldom brings bread—but sometimes it brings honour or affection. Yet even that is beyond my desire. I did not write for fame or recognition. I wrote out of sorrow. Where there is no sorrow, there can be no true literature or art.

Praise be to the Creator, who has filled my dreams and awakenings, my heart and mind, with the divine resonance of words. Without His mercy, no creation can reach completion.

Yes—this is a book of Islamic lyrical reflection, of life and faith, of love and homeland, of parents and Creator. Every song within is but a humble hymn of praise to the Almighty.

—Azaha Sultan

Who sings the song of Azaha—
the melody of my rhythm-lost life?
For you, my heart’s devotion shall remain,
awake through endless eternities—
friend, you’ve made me forever in your debt..

Words of Blessing

It is almost unbelievable unless one reads it—
what a magnificent lyrical epic Azaha Sultan has composed.
He has indeed accomplished the impossible.
He stands as the true embodiment of a minstrel poet—
a Charan Kobi in every sense.

His poetic devotion finds its fullest expression in this work, Rowja (The Radiance of Divine Majesty).
What does this book not contain?—
Spiritual reflection, mysticism, Sufism, lyrical grace—
all flow together within these pages.

His deep yearning for nearness to the Creator has transformed him into a mystic poet.
At the very beginning of the book, he writes:

“SubhanAllah walhamdulillah
La ilaha illallah
Rabbana Rabbana
I beg forgiveness for countless wrongs…
If You forgive, I am forgiven,
Forgive, O Lord, all the sins of Your servant.”

At that moment, it feels as though a truly spiritual poet begins his song by seeking forgiveness from his Lord—
aware that as a mere human being, he is not free from error.
Such repentance is therefore only natural.
Only a deeply faithful soul can so humbly seek the unconditional forgiveness of the Creator.

And his praise of the Almighty does not end there.
He continues to proclaim the boundless power of his Lord:

“How Great is my Rabb—
He can turn a beggar’s bowl into a king’s treasure,
And by pride, even angels can fall into darkness—
How Great is my Rabb.”

Within these few simple lines lies an eternal secret—
a reflection of the timeless history of humankind.

In this lyrical anthology, Azaha Sultan blends the praise of the Creator and devotion to the Prophet (peace be upon him)
with clear guidance on the duties of human life.
Yet, being human, he also surrenders to the tender bindings of worldly affection.
At times, he becomes profoundly domestic,
desiring no grandeur—only the warmth of familiar love:

“I do not crave the life of Las Vegas,
I’d rather dwell in a quiet home in Chatteshwari.
Even if You deny me, I’ll not despair—
Your joy is my joy;
I ask no reward for my giving.”

He is a believer, through and through.
Even amid all that is gained or lost,
he finds peace only in submission to the Creator.
And therein lies the true triumph of a lyrical poet,
the fulfillment of a wandering bard.

May this effort of Azaha Sultan,
this luminous work of faith and song,
be blessed, beautiful, and enduring.

—Saleh Mahmud
Poet & Writer
Dhaka, 30 May 2021

Words of Blessing

The world is painted in countless shades and forms.
Amid the vast crowd of humankind, some seek to color themselves in the hues of this world—
while others arrive carrying the sacred task of coloring the world in divine light.

Khondoker Azaha Sultan is one such wandering minstrel poet.
In his journey and expression, he has preserved his distinct voice and singular vision through his extraordinary lyrical creation.
To this exceptional work, I offer my heartfelt welcome:

Rabindranath, Nazrul, and Jibanananda
have gifted us endless poetic joy,
spreading messages of hope among humankind.
We, the humble, can only know so little—
Yet Azaha Sultan, in his humility,
nurtures within his heart the immortal song of Lalon—
the message of the Creator and the life of all creation.
Thus he has composed a rare and timeless history,
a prophecy woven into poetry itself.

Blessed is Azaha Sultan.
May his immortal creation reach the hearts of people far and wide.
May the world be illuminated by the grand union of the Creator and His creation.
May humankind bow in devotion through every age.
May all divisions, envy, and discord fade away—
and may society be filled with unity, love, and selfless giving.

Such is my prayer.

—Mizanur Rahman Rana
Editor, Priyo Shomoy
Chandpur, 31 May 2021

1

Praise and Prayer

“SubhanAllah walhamdulillah
La ilaha illallah”
Rabbana Rabbana
Even in my call, countless errors—O forgive me.

Rahim, Rahman, You are ever merciful,
through my mistakes, You have granted me the presence of Muhammad.

“Allahumma salli ‘ala sayyidina
Muhammadur Rasulullah”
I pray, I pray—
show mercy even to this sinner, O Lord.

Without You, there is no path for me;
accept the repentance of this servant, Tawbatun Nashu’a.

“Rabbighfir li wa tub ‘alayya innaka
Antattauw ya bul-Ghafura”
Do not look away, do not look away—
all sins filed and stacked before You.

Merciful, Compassionate, a hundred names are Yours,
and in reciting them, O Lord, the servant finds profound peace.

“Ya Ghaffaru, Anta Ghafoorur Rahim,
Ya Rabbi wa Rabbul ‘Ala”
Sin upon sin upon sin—
this servant has sunk in the ocean of guilt.

If You forgive, then I am forgiven;
O Lord, forgive all the sins of Your servant.

8 Baishakh, 1422 — Manama, UAE

Worshippers and worship

Worshipped, worshipped—
all that the Creator has brought into being.
Worshipped, worshipped—
all the suffering of parents.

Worshipped, worshipped—
the humble grass of one’s homeland.
Worshipped, worshipped—
the vast skies of the birthplace.

Worshipped, worshipped—
all creation that is worthy of praise.
Worshipped, worshipped—
all that the Creator has brought into being.

Worshipped, worshipped—
the life of the needy, the hours of hardship.
Worshipped, worshipped—
the weary traveler’s resting place.

Worshipped, worshipped—
all benevolent beings.
Worshipped, worshipped—
the offerings of devoted souls.

Worshipped, worshipped—
the principles of justice and righteousness.
Worshipped, worshipped—
all that the Creator has brought into being.

11 Jaishtha, 1422 — Manama, UAE

Dedicated soul

O devoted head, reach the heavens—
the one who has surrendered themselves to the service of others.
Upon the forehead of misfortune, place the mark of humility,
so that the path of the pure and the beautiful may be clearly seen.

Those who aim to destroy the world,
let their thoughts be weighed and considered.
Blessed be the thinkers who build the abodes of humanity,
those who march in the procession to save mankind.
O devoted head, reach the heavens—
the one who has surrendered themselves to the service of others.

Even as humans, to be truly human is no small task;
one must embody certain virtues.
On one side, the young goats; on the other, one’s own children—
yet who can say a mother’s breast-nourishment is greater than humanity itself?

No, the rulers of kingdoms are not truly great.
Yes, in a humble hut, one may paint the dreams of another.
In the fields of victory, tears may mark the fallen,
and the greatest among us is the one who feels the sorrow of others.
O devoted head, reach the heavens—
the one who has surrendered themselves to the service of others.

12 Asharh, 1422 — Manama, UAE

How Great is My Lord

How great is my Lord!
He can turn a beggar’s bowl into a king’s treasure,
and through pride, even angels can fall into darkness—
how great is my Lord!

This humble earth—this my life—
how vast it seems to me, yet how small I am.
To Him, a thousand oceans are but drops—
how great is my Lord!

Infinite, He is; infinite is His creation.
The supreme universe, the ultimate cosmos, the boundless worlds—
all unknown to me.
For the flowers and fruits of this earth that He has given me, I offer gratitude,
infinite, He is; infinite is His creation.

Parents, kin, children, the bonds of spouse—
ah, ah, how tenderly they bind me in love!
I cannot forget the offerings of the beloved—
how great is my Lord!

22 Shrabon, 1422 — Manama, UAE

The controller of destiny

Master of destiny, my Controller—
I move because You guide me.
I know because You grant knowledge,
I am wealthy because You provide,
By Your mercy, I rise.
Master of destiny, my Controller.

Gracious One, You have made me human;
Grateful, I hold the highest place.
You are great—the possessor of a magnificent heart.
How can I sing Your praises?
How can I express my gratitude fully?
Master of destiny, my Controller.

21 Chaitra, 1422 — Manama, UAE

The Sole Creator of the Universe

You alone are the Creator of the universe,
at Your feet, I bow my head at all times.
Many say You do not exist—
I cannot comprehend the reasoning,
for I see thousands of signs!
You alone are the Creator of the universe.

If You allowed me to see You with my own eyes,
I would still find it hard to believe that I am human.
In the Quran, the Puranas, the Gita, the Bible—
none can attain the essence of humanity
without Your wisdom and grace.
You alone are the Creator of the universe.

25 Jaishtha, 1423 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

So Close Yet Unseen

You exist, I exist—so close,
so much understanding between You and me!
Yet I comprehend nothing, wandering the wrong path;
why then do You guide me along the road of error?
Why stir such struggles in my mind and heart?

How simple You are, yet I am made crooked;
what power did I have, lost in boundless disobedience!
In my soul, Your presence is constant—
yet You gave me no hint of understanding.
How long, O Friend, will You keep me suspended
between solace and despair?

19 Asharh, 1423 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Between Existence and Absence

Some say You exist—some say You do not.
Some say they see You in the mirror of the mind.
I say—alright, alright,
let You, I, and that remain in unity,
not caught in the tug-of-war of duality.

Neither this shore nor the other—there is no middle refuge;
if the banks are lost, all calamity remains in between.
Though I believe I am walking the right path,
it is seen that the traveler is truly astray,
for on the path of understanding, there is no true address.

2 Shrabon, 1423 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Whatever They Think—You Remain Mine

Let them think whatever they will,
my trust forever rests in You.
Let them mock as much as they please—
You are, and will remain, within my soul.

So many thousands of Your signs abound,
yet they do not see—what more can I say?
I only grieve in sorrow and pain—
even after shaping man, You made not all humane.

In the vision of sky and earth wide open,
they still fail to find Your hidden truth.
I ponder, and I wonder deep within—
why grant them sight and wisdom too?

Now You smile and ask—“Shall I appear on earth?”
I’d never say no—what could ever lack in that?
If in Your decree, You are pleased with Your servant,
then save this life from rebellion’s end.

8 Shrabon, 1423 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Shukran, O Merciful Lord

Shukran, Shukran—
O Allah, how great, how merciful You are!
Shukran, Shukran.
All that You have bestowed upon me is beyond comparison:
rain, wind, sweet water—an endless stream of nectar.
I float within the ocean of Your mercy—
Shukran, Shukran.

This life of mine—
how blessed it is, You have not left it incomplete.
This life of mine—
Though I am sometimes disobedient, yet Your grace remains.
In sickness and sorrow, You grant gifts of healing.
Through trials and tribulations, You show me the measure of Your bounty—
Shukran, Shukran.

14 Shrabon, 1423 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Allah, The Supreme

Allah is great, Allah is exalted,
Allah is Rahim and Rahman.
Allah is the Lawgiver, Allah is the Ordinance,
Allah is compassionate and merciful.

Allahu, Allahu, Allahu, Allahu—
La ilaha illallah, illallah!
May this zikr-song always flow within the heart.

Allah, the Sovereign; Allah, the Helper,
Allah, the Infinite and the Gentle.
Allah, the Giver; Allah, the Judge,
Allah, Just and Righteous.

Allah, Allah, Allahu—
Such a sweet resonance in the heart!
By the pull of this Name, may the soul rise beyond all bounds.

17 Shrabon, 1423 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Longing for Your Vision

In the joys of Paradise, the heart does not weep excessively;
it only weeps for the glimpse of You.
If ever I could behold You, my Lord,
even in the fiery depths of Hell, I would be blessed, blessed indeed.

Where no one belongs to anyone,
“Ya Nafsi, Ya Nafsi”—fear arises.
There, my refuge is You;
beneath Your shadow, what warmth surpasses twelve suns!

Whatever sins and wrongs I have committed, O Lord,
grant forgiveness even for those offenses.
Ar-Rahman will judge with unparalleled fairness,
and nothing can equal the mercy of Ar-Rahim.

No matter how harsh the battlefield of Qiyamah,
in the heart of forgiveness, Al-Ghafoor will remain.
The just and the unjust alike will experience the hope of mercy,
and the sinner will seek only the gaze of the Merciful One.

22 Shrabon, 1423 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

My Love Remains

My love is for You—
beloved, it will endure for lifetimes.
Even if I depart one day,
my love shall remain unmatched.

I will carry the lamp of this love,
eager to reach You at every moment.
If there is any sorrow in my love,
forgive me, O Friend, my dearest.

True love finds no recognized place;
it burns ever bright with the light of sincerity.
On the path of truth, thorns are called cruel,
yet one must never allow obstacles to halt the journey.

In a city shrouded by the fog of despair,
a hundred suns cannot shine continuously.
But he who holds steadfast self-confidence in his heart
will find guidance through the means of the unfamiliar.

27 Shrabon, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Who Are You?

Who are You?
Do not let me sink
into the boundless sea of sorrow.
Who are You?
Yet sometimes let me drift
upon the tide of joy and delight.

Nature? No, no—it does not feel so.
Good deeds? Perhaps it may be that.
Let them coincide in observation—
and in devotion, bring peace to the depths of the heart.

It seems!
Someone is there, overseeing right and wrong,
governing all things.
It seems!
Someone, with unseen hands,
holds firmly the universe in mind.

In Your conception? Speak what You will.
In my striving? Let doubt vanish without cause.
May all darkness in the heart dissipate,
and may serenity return once more.

28 Shrabon, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

O Friend, What is the Purpose?

O Friend, what is the purpose of all these arrangements?
By what fault am I destined for annihilation?
Why then have You filled me with oceans of desire,
creating without necessity?

In my fourteenth year of life,
my existence resounds in fourteen ways!
Though all colors lie within me,
why then, in one home, is there such difference?

What hope resides in Your mind—what intention!
You, the Controller, know well the course of all.
You give me reason and wisdom, yet I am led astray!
I am but a servant, under Your sign.

If You are beside me, O bearer of sorrow,
why do I suffer in pain?
Everything is under Your command—within Your hands—
so why this boundless disobedience?

29 Shrabon, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

The Strange Nature of Man

Man is a strange being,
finding devilry within himself,
yet wandering around singing
of the faults of others.

He sees his own errors from the start,
yet speaks only of the mistakes of others.
The one whose sins are beyond forgiveness
is the loudest in accusation!

He knows and he claims to know,
poison seems sweeter than honey to him.
The close one is distant, the distant feels near—
no comparison with one’s own kin!

I eat, I live,
I exist for my own gain.
If my interests are harmed,
all worldly dealings are absurd!

Some men exist,
bringing shame to the name of man.
As long as their own interests are intact,
even seven murders are forgiven.

If one appears saintly,
to assume they are virtuous is a grave mistake.
Through saints come most often
harm and grave misfortune.

What were the forefathers?
Landlords or beggars?
What have I achieved?
That alone should matter.

Born in a hut,
who says the mind will be narrow?
Born in a palace,
does it ensure a generous heart?

Ash thrown to the sky
does not become a star.
Dung blooming as a lotus
is not transformed into a treasure.

Gaining high posts by low cunning—
what good will it bring?
If one is not good within,
what use is all advice and counsel?

30 Shrabon, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

What Is Life?

A deep ache lingers in my heart—
this birth, it seems, has no meaning at all!
I’ll depart amidst unfulfilled dreams,
for life… I never understood its call.

Eating, seeking, wanting more—
is that all life has in store?
No true work done, no purpose gained,
my days have passed—empty, in vain.

What’s done is done—grace or disgrace,
nothing left now to erase.
Just a little time I plead from Thee,
to end my days in remembering Thee.

No more do I crave the unworthy gold,
nor wish my heart in falsehood sold.
Let this birth find its true design—
before the end, show me Thy line.

1 Bhadra, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Radiant ‘Rowja’

Let there be neither sunlight of day
nor darkness of night,
but in Your Radiance
shine Rowja—radiant Roushon Jalal.

Let there be no worldly custom,
no bearer of laws,
yet in the face of blame,
Rowja—indefinable Roushon Jalal.

Let there be no dependence on fate,
no guide to moral direction,
but let the ideal of justice prevail—
symbolic Rowja, Roushon Jalal.

Let there be no true exhibitor,
no practitioner of nature,
but let devotion to truth flourish—
authentic Rowja, Roushon Jalal.

2 Bhadra, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

The Marvel of Creation

I am awed by creation, yet I question its design,
arguing foolishly whether the Creator exists or not.
In the corner of my room, I measure the heavens,
seeking no answer—what rests within my own walls?

This nature—how does it move across the universe?
This planet, these stars—how do they revolve?
These clouds, this storm, this wind—what drives them?
The Creator’s presence manifests in countless ways.

See the fields and meadows where flowers bloom,
spreading fragrance in delightful ecstasy all around!
Behold the tiny vine bearing wondrous fruit—
from where does such marvel originate?

Wherever I gaze, creation is incomparable,
yet everything bows in my mind’s perception.
Who governs the sky and the earth?
The world cannot oppose the will of the Creator.

3 Bhadra, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Reflections of the Heart

In my mind, I ponder,
thinking deeply, feeling countless things—
what will become of this tiny heart?
Among the people I speak,
words flowing, yet hidden in my lips,
what harm is there in holding the heart wide?

If I cannot give to anyone,
or fail to help another,
I reflect repeatedly,
observing myself, understanding—
if intentions are good, all is well.

By being, by living,
who can become truly great?
No comparison exists for this soul.
By giving, by sharing,
one may touch the heights of the sky,
but where else is such joy in giving?

The one who leads with the heart at its pinnacle,
can conquer the entire world.
Moment by moment I realize,
by understanding, teaching others,
the fruits of good deeds are always good.

4 Bhadra, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Longing for the Motherland

I seek not a place in the heavens, O Lord,
but hold within my heart the pull of the earth and homeland.
I witness the hardships, the famines of the land,
I see the fasting and the starving,
let not life be a tale of indulgence.
Hold within my heart the pull of the earth and homeland.

All the pomp and display, the talk of grandeur—
who stands among the destitute? Who truly cares?
See that village burning—what sorrow!
Because it seems small, it is dismissed,
yet the heartless feel no pain, who are not compassionate.
Hold within my heart the pull of the earth and homeland.

5 Bhadra, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Praise for All Creation

Praise, praise,
the laws and decrees are praise,
all that exists in the world is praise.
The moon, the sun, planets, stars—
the winds, storms, rain, clouds, and sky—
dust, fields, soil, farmland, crops, and harvest.
Praise, praise,
all that exists in the world is praise.

Monsters and gods,
all living beings, humans and sages—
nothing was created in vain.
Forests, groves, hills, rocks, and stones,
grass, vines, flowers, fruits, and trees,
rivers, oceans, ponds, waters, aquatic life.
Praise, praise,
all that exists in the world is praise.

5 Bhadra, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

The Colors of the World

How many more colors, O Lord, will You show the world,
how many forms of power and self-interest exist?
Since birth, I have watched the chameleon’s many forms,
even today I see its ever-changing hues.

Drawing it close to the chest, yet stabbed on the back,
pushed into the pit of death by a disguised guide!
Deceived—they will fall, the blind believers—
how many forms of power and self-interest exist?

Even written with the same pen, fate varies:
some are cursed, some are blessed.
In a brother’s grief, who can see the brother’s smile?
Truth cannot speak—the mother’s heart is sorrowful.

Here, the near and the distant, the familiar and stranger,
pouring out lives, yet taking life within the heart!
Understanding the signs of betrayal is most difficult—
how many forms of power and self-interest exist?

6 Bhadra, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Here and Now

Here, no one exists—I am myself,
present yet absent!
Mingling with the earth, when will the soil merge again?
Does it exist at all in its essence?

The market of Shrikanta rises,
how long will the fog linger?
See, I am here amidst the chaos,
see, in a silent journey, in a fleeting moment.

Life flickers—light and shadow,
the visible and the invisible!
Yet in this fragile city, markets are set,
I cannot understand the rules, the mystery remains.

Thorns at every step—endless obstacles,
yet I do not abandon the land of desire!
What a pictured humanity—a diverse world,
I continue on, yet I do not relinquish hope.

7 Bhadra, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

True Worship and Devotion

True worship, daily devotion,
rituals and prayers,
all are futile,
as long as false practice
and vain praise
do not leave the heart.

What merit is gained in sanctimonious display,
if the body bears no deficiency,
yet the mind is unsteady,
then no practice is truly complete—
true worship, daily devotion,
rituals and prayers.

Since birth, the heart has not felt
what I am doing!
I never came into this world
to create conflict;
forgive me, O Lord.

One who does not feel remorse
cannot be human.
If the mind understands the mistakes of mistakes,
all prayers are accepted—
true worship, daily devotion,
rituals and prayers.

7 Bhadra, 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

What Have I Done

What have I done—what am I doing,
Sitting here, quietly thinking?
Is life meant only for eating and leaving,
For passing days without meaning?

When I leave this land, and travel afar,
The news of my end will reach somewhere;
My deeds will drift upon the air,
And people will talk of what I was there.
What have I done—what am I doing,
Sitting here, quietly thinking?

The wealth I earned by night and day,
Will it serve me in any way?
A wasted birth, if deeds were vain,
That truth will echo again and again.

Some flowers bloom with scent divine,
Some fade away before their time;
Some hold beauty, but nothing more—
If life has no stream, death feels unsure.
What have I done—what am I doing,
Sitting here, quietly thinking.

8 bhadro, bangla 1424— D.C. Road, Chattogram

O Allah, Thou Perfect Sustainer

O Allah, Thou nurturest life entire,
Like the blue of sky — pure, clear, and higher.
Grant hearts refined, serene, and bright,
Filled with truth and guiding light.

O Allah, Thou who cleansest Earth’s despair,
Wash it away like Nuh’s flood fair.
Let fields with bloom and harvest teem,
Fulfilled in beauty’s endless dream.

O Allah, protect Thy servants all,
As Thou didst those who heeded Thy call —
The sleepers of Kahf, safe in their rest,
Yusuf, Yunus, Ibrahim — blessed.

O Allah, fill us with grace again,
As Thou didst Zamzam’s flowing vein.
For Thou canst guide, beyond all reason,
An elephant through a needle’s vision.

9 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

In Every Breath, I Bow to Thee

With every breath, in every beat, I bow to Thee,
By faith and birth — a Muslim I shall be.
Yet by the mark of humankind’s embrace,
Thou madest man — creation’s noblest grace.

Thy prophets, Thy messengers — not divine,
But wise of heart, with reason’s shine.
And greater still than all decree,
Is human kindness — Thy will in me.

If ever I falter, O Lord, forgive,
For Thou art Mercy, that all may live.
Bind me always within Thy care,
To act in goodness, night and day, everywhere.

10 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Smiling Through the Pain Within

Who can, with smiling lips,
Pour out love in endless drips?
Who can, beneath the tree of grief,
Sing songs of joy for heart’s relief?
Smiling through the pain within.

Who can, with sorrow in the soul,
Walk the path with radiant goal?
Who can, hiding fire’s lash,
Still act with virtue, calm and rash?
Smiling through the pain within.

Who can, holding ruin’s lyre,
Build a kingdom pure, entire?
Who can, though scorned and stained,
Still praise peace — serene, restrained?
Holding ruin’s lyre in hand.

Who can, by wound on wound refined,
Grow ever softer, ever kind?
Who can, in passion’s binding chain,
Stay free from anger’s harsh domain?
Smiling through the pain within.

11 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

My Pledge in the Ocean of Your Love

O Lord, in the ocean of Your love,
I cast my humble vessel of devotion.
Grant me the strength to sail it,
Bestow it fully upon me, O Friend.

You are the great treasure of love, O Enchanter,
Who else is as noble as You, O Noble One?
O Noble One — on every shore, it is You
Who alone is the wealth of my heart.

My devoted servitude,
In Your love and reverence, always flows.
Guide it, steer it along the path,
For without Your guidance,
I am truly lost.

Without that love of Yours,
How could this life proceed?
I desire nothing without You,
Seek no worldly gain or grandeur.

13 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Fate, Fate, and Consolation

“Fate, fate,” echoes consolation,
Ignorance does not write the decree on the brow.
“What is in destiny will occur,”
No such writing of fate ever changes.

After the trust is given, what relies on it?
If one merely sits idle, what happens at home?
If effort is lacking in abundance,
Will sorrow ever leave its mark in fragments?

The stronger the bond of affection,
The heavier the burden of attachment grows.
In the practice of compassion and surrender,
One rises from the harshest mire.

If something comes easily,
Do not let it fall — it has no worth.
Only through extreme effort, if it is achieved,
Can the true value of labor be understood.

17 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Merciful One

Merciful One,
Let the earth dwell in peace, filled with joy,
Let violence be transformed into nonviolence and sweetness—
Merciful One!

Today, in all directions, there is conflict and strife,
Today, among nations, oppression spreads!
The world burns in the fire of violence,
Then how shall we understand the triumph of the wicked?
Merciful One!

Compassionate Heart,
Your exchange with cruelty is absent,
Then why does the cannon of harm still bloom?
Compassionate Heart!

Wherever I look, I do not see goodness,
Wherever I see, evil spreads its influence!
Those who should not kill have descended into murder,
Then how can nonviolence be the supreme religion?
Merciful One!

19 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

One Divine Presence

I do not understand which is worship,
Nor where the distinction lies—
Ishwar, Prabhu, Allah, Khoda, God, Bhagwan.
I do not know the high or low, the differences,
Nor the divisions of nationality—
Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, Jew, Christian.

I know only this:
I understand only sorrow and tears.
I accept that He is One—yet distinct,
The same for all nations and all names—
Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, Jew, Christian.

How many secretly search,
Silently calling,
Even there He says—“I am, I am.”
How grandly do they remember,
Praying fervently,
Yet even there He waves—“I am here.”

Where is His presence not felt?
Where does His love not reach?
To whom does He reveal virtue—who hears His word?
Everywhere He is, in perfect balance—
Ishwar, Prabhu, Allah, Khoda, God, Bhagwan.

22 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Restless in the World

I cannot sleep even a single moment,
Has the conscience of the world fallen asleep?
The world moves toward ruin,
In human conflicts, against one another.

What will become, I do not know, in this world,
When the apocalypse seems near at hand!
Man brings progress, yet man brings downfall,
Man brings destruction, yet man brings welfare.

How much longer will unrest remain on Earth?
How long will the wicked hold sway?
If You will, lift the veil,
And peace may arise once again on Earth.

24 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Whom Shall I Tell

To whom shall I reveal my complaint,
To whom shall I speak the sorrow of my heart?
Who is there to listen,
Who will grant the comfort of solace?

The pain of my heart remains,
No path appears for its expression.
The flow of life does not halt,
How then shall I find a tearful relief?

The burning in my heart is intense,
How shall I weave the garland of love?
What song shall I sing melodiously,
When sorrow makes my voice mute?

All around, the clamor of pain rises,
Where shall I find the courage of the mind?
In sleep, I hear the roll of tears,
The helpless grief shatters the chest.

25 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Like My Father

How were the great souls,
Who and in what manner were they noble?
Perhaps like my father.
How did they live and act,
Who and in what manner were they humble?
Perhaps like my father.

In their daily life,
How did they dwell in this world?
In faith, truth, and ideals,
Even amidst falsehood,
Perhaps like my father.

In practice, refinement, and devotion,
What absorbed them most?
Service to creation—loving the Creator.
In sincerity, steadfastness, and conduct,
Impartial and flawless,
Service to creation—loving the Creator.

Perhaps there was nothing
Lowly in their deeds.
Even if mistakes occurred,
They were trivial;
Sorrows would be endured patiently—
Perhaps like my father.

26 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

At the Graveyard

Who can understand
The meaning of life,
If one does not come here?
With respect,
Standing here for a moment or two,
Silence shows the truth to the mind.

These towering buildings—big mansions,
These houses of happiness—the love of the wealthy,
Will any of it accompany in the journey of tomorrow?
At the graveyard.

Small in scale,
Life passes like a turning wheel,
Moment by moment.
Endless,
All that has been recorded in the heavy ledger,
The burdens carried.

In this small expanse,
All that has been earned,
Who knows if it will bring laughter or tears?
I stand in fear, amidst the accounts and calculations—
At the graveyard.

27 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Beside My Father’s Grave

Let my grave be beside my father’s,
Surely there I may find my mother’s love too.
The touch of affection I never felt in life—
I wish to see its form after death anew.

From birth I’ve run—crossed seven seas afar,
From this shore no beckoning hand is seen there;
The sorrow of parting’s drop is not like joy’s sea—
Let my grave be beside my father’s, peacefully.

The heart once broken in pride’s own snare,
Perhaps no pardon—though I chant Allah’s name in prayer.
My Lord I find within my parents dear,
In their feet lies my heaven clear.

If in the beyond I feel their tender care,
May this shore’s bitterness vanish to repair;
This only prayer I raise to You, O Merciful High—
Let my grave be beside my father’s when I die.

28 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Just Arrived

I have just arrived—my journey yet incomplete,
Already preparations begin for departure’s repeat!
I’ve barely sat a while—resting my weary frame,
Chaos erupted all around, as usual, the same!

Ah! Ah! Ah! You are beyond words,
Your creation leaves me with no replies,
The building and breaking, wondrous fate’s ties.

What a neatly arranged workshop I see,
So beautiful the setup, so meticulous, indeed!
Who is to be honored, who is to be praised?
So much surrounds me—what all is it for, I gaze?

Within my tears I speak—yet unheard,
Then I smile, no longer a cry to be stirred,
Now the building’s own lament turns towards me, absurd.

29 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

The Fair Will Break

The marketplace fair will break apart,
The play of colors will fall apart,
The raft of flesh will fall apart,
Mist will descend upon the fields and heart.

The path of departure will unfold,
Who reaches the shore first, who is told?
Who is accepted first, whose fate is cast?
Chaos and clamor will hold fast.

The ledger of deeds will be opened wide,
Merit and worth will be seen inside.
Neither the poor nor the universe entire,
Is left unrecorded in the book of hire.

Here the king reigns in royal guise,
There he will face his just demise.
When all scrubbing ends, when all is through,
The eternal trade of life comes to a final view.

29 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

In the Busy City

In the busy city,
Can I find Him there,
The companion of my soul?
In the busy city.

Countless people,
No one aware,
Countless people.
Fear—lost in the crowd—
In the busy city.

My friend,
Who erred at every step,
Does compassion reach him?
My friend.

This is that sunlit expanse,
Closed has the playground,
This is that sunlit expanse.
‘Ya—Ya Nafsi’ in a voice of terror—
In the busy city.

29 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

If I Have Committed a Sin

If I have committed a sin, O Lord,
I cannot say it was without fault.
Born as a human being, sometimes
I cannot claim I walked unaware.

When penance came in this world,
Forgetting, forgetting, one must endure,
Yet in the balance of good and evil,
The scales of misdeeds bear wrath.

What to do, what I do and when,
I cannot understand as a human.
After acting, alas, the recitation,
You have ordained the law, O Lord.

By my fault, I am guilty,
I say—the misdeed exceeds fate.
One sin I cover with ten,
Ten covered with a thousand threads.

30 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Give, O Give

Give, O give,
Now let it go, give.
There it stands
My journey awaits.

Beating drums and cymbals,
Announce the news, beloved.
Well-wishers and envious alike,
May they come—not at farewell.

This royal palace,
How long this illusionary weeping?
I came and went with empty hands,
Let the world witness in awe.

How am I leaving—at what price?
Can I take anything along?
I think within my deep self,
There lies the matter of concern.

30 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

In This Forest of Deeds

In this forest of sin and virtue,
I remain exiled.
What I seek so desperately,
Even I do not know!

What I attain in desire,
Tarnished remains in tarnish.
Within the darkened room,
Yet why do I weep?

The play of chaos continues,
I have forgotten everything.
Time runs out, I realize too late,
But what fruit escapes in the end?

He who lacks common sense,
It is his burden to be human.
Who bears the baseness,
Has much to ponder in mind.

30 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Why Such Tenderness, O Lord

Why bestow such tenderness, O Lord,
When you grant no means, no wealth, no power?
Why let me hear the arrows of sorrow,
When you render me helpless to withstand them?

I see no way,
I, a human, am utterly powerless.
Those whom your hand strikes,
Even seeing, cannot perceive the pit!

Today the silent earth witnesses the spectacle,
No language to explain—no path!
The seer who does not weep at human pain,
Cannot comprehend tomorrow’s silent plight.

Those whose sorrow is immense today,
Perhaps will find relief tomorrow,
Yet the river of their distressful tears
Will remain unseen by any eye.

30 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

How Beautifully You Arranged, O God

How beautifully You have arranged the universe,
How much love You have bestowed upon me.
What radiance still exists in Your abode,
That I, alas, cannot fully perceive.

So ignorant am I, yet You embraced me,
I see yet fail to truly understand.
Though I witness goodness with my eyes,
Evil relentlessly seizes me within.

“Alas, alas, alas,” my companions cry,
Yet I keep wandering the path astray.
And still, under Your benevolent shadow,
You shelter me with countless acts of mercy.

What is this honor—I fail to comprehend,
When I have not become the precious gem.
The worth of a jewel is known to the expert,
Whose skilled hands handle the jewel’s craft.

31 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

Why This Awareness at Day’s End

Why, O Lord, did You grant this awareness so late?
I understand nothing, O Infinite, nothing at all!
How shall I bear this burden of fate—
I know not, my Friend, I know not!

Bound within chains of deprivation,
You left this lowly soul in the snare of illusion.
Now if You say, “Play in tune and rhythm,”
How shall my tuneless flute echo harmony?

Heartless, witless, left in the lowest state,
If You call me now—how shall I awake?
What shall I do, what skill shall I make?
Helpless I sit, pondering what path to take.

Thy command I hear in deepest dream,
Restless I dwell in thoughts unseen.
Let this numbness fade before life’s end—
Let me shed this royal guise, and dwell serene.

31 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

The Weight of Life

When I listen with utmost attention,
I hear the directive words of the wise and taught.
What is allotted for me has been fixed,
Seeking more makes life unbearably heavy.

The heavier the weight, the harder the burden to bear;
Without understanding, the path becomes filled with pain.
Life is indeed a vast hole—full of endless tunes;
Blown upon from every side, a wondrous flute plays.

Each vine, path, and mountain fulfills its duty;
Not a single bee was created without purpose.
In my work, I strive—like the honeybee in the hive,
In everyone’s realm, the greatest weight requires care.

Here, none but the forest dweller is the king;
Humans and non-humans mingle in a unified life.
For all, the care of all should be preserved,
So that no coercion or oppression be ever forgotten.

31 Vadro, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

The Mind Speaks

The mind says, “No…”, the mind says, “Alas…”
The mind asks, “Where then lies the realm of affection?”
The mind says, “This…”, the mind says, “That…”
The mind says, “I dwell only in the shadow of thought.”

I do not like it, I do not like it,
I do not like these ups and downs.
I do not like it, I do not like it,
I do not like so many things.
This market, this field, this sky,
All sway in the pendulum of self-interest.

The mind asks, “How…”, the mind says, “I do not understand…”
The mind says, “From the red hills, across leagues.”
The mind says, “Two…”, the mind says, “Three…”
The mind says, “All good and bad arises from oneself.”

Let good prevail, let good prevail,
Let good prevail over the lowest of hearts.
Let good prevail, let good prevail,
Let good prevail over every harmful soul.
This house of illusion, this soil of affection,
Must be left behind into the unknown.

1 Ashwin, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

The Heartrending Sound

What a piercing sound rises,
Deep within my heart—oh, deep within,
Whose anklet’s pain cries aloud,
Floating to my ears in waves.

What a sorrowful voice—what a mournful tone,
I hear it echo through the winds.
Where does it cry, who is violated,
Oh Allah, who else can be the protector?

“Save us, save us!” “Allah, Allah!” all around,
Who listens, whose call spreads far and wide?
Who saves whom when every home is ablaze,
While life itself rushes frantically to rescue?

The world witnesses the helpless’ plight today,
Humanity shines in every hue,
If one house burns, another survives—how can this be?
Who ponders this simple truth—who truly cares?

1 Ashwin, Bangla 1424 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

51 Why Don’t I Ever Think

Why don’t I think, oh why—
That the humble is worth more than gold’s high!
Why don’t I ever think, oh why?

In the meadows, a cowherd grazes plain,
But who knows Gopal without Radha’s name?
Balaram plows, Sita wins Rama’s flame,
A thief turns saint—Ratnakar earns his fame,
When Ram goes exile, Ravan’s glory climbs high—
Why don’t I ever think, oh why?

What I think never comes to use,
What’s useful I never choose—
What I think never comes to use.

Near jewels seem worthless all the time,
Faraway stones shine in mind’s clime.
Outer beauty charms every heart,
Inner grace—who sees that part?
Why can a son rule worlds without his father’s tie—
Why don’t I ever think, oh why?
2 Ashwin, 1424 – DC Road, Chattogram

52 O Allah, Make Me Not a Beggar of Mercy

O Allah, make me not depend on pity’s door,
Let my life’s watch end before.
Yet if You let this breath still go,
Keep my feet steady in every sorrow—
For tears of pain are purer than joy’s glamour more.
O Allah, make me not depend on pity’s door.

Bow me down, O Lord, again and again,
Let my head rest only beneath Your reign.
Make me not a slave to mortal grace,
That mercy crueler than mercilessness—
For shame’s poison often heals more than false nectar’s pour.
O Allah, make me not depend on pity’s door.
3 Ashwin, 1424 – DC Road, Chattogram

53 Bless, O Giver

Bless them, bless them, O Giver divine,
Those who suffer, beaten every time.
Complete, complete what’s still unmade,
Where the poorest souls fade away.

Give them back their homes, their lands,
The exiled souls with empty hands.
Your treasure knows no smallness,
Fulfill, fulfill their incompleteness.

Let them be honored, be counted again,
Those strangers in their very domain.
Let them be praised, revered by name,
Those crushed under endless shame.

Be not angry anymore, O Lord above,
Mistakes are human—so are we of love.
For we are human—by that alone we pray—
Bless them, bless them, O Giver, today.
4 Ashwin, 1424 – DC Road, Chattogram

54 O Lord of the World

O Lord of worlds, why is the heart so dark?
Why so thankless, joyless—without a spark?
O Lord of the world!

In sorrow’s hour, faith stands high,
No doubt to die for love’s reply—
But when You save, we turn away,
Forget Your name the very next day—
O Lord of the world!

Why is it so—why can’t they see?
All we know is vanity—
We all think we’re supreme, free—
Why is it so, O Lord, why can’t we see?

Those who dwell in the sky divine
Feel no pull of earthly line;
Those who live on earth’s dusty clay
Find peace never—in dust they fray—
O Lord of the world!
5 Ashwin, 1424 – DC Road, Chattogram

55 How Long Shall the Earth Be Destroyed

How long shall the earth burn in strife?
How long shall soil drink blood of life?
Who suffers most, the weak, the poor—
Must they forever bear pain’s tour?

How many innocent shall be shamed?
How long shall humanity be maimed?
Why so much rage, so much red flow?

Short is life—why can’t we know?
How long, how brief this mortal show?
For whom this fight, this endless woe?
Whose gain from this—can you show?

Why this fury, this deadly game?
What pride, what honor, what false acclaim?
What arrogance fuels such flame?

We’re here today, gone tomorrow’s sigh—
Why then the weak pretend so high?
We lose our reason, our sanity!
Even God’s own house bleeds calamity!

If temples are meant for God’s grace,
And mosques His sacred prayer’s place—
Why then the riots, the hate’s embrace?

Why this hatred—who understands?
Why no peace across all lands?
Who knows who lives, where stands?
Who knows whose home, whose hands?

Then why keep sowing war and feud?
Why this wall between brotherhood?
In prayer and worship, where’s the divide—show me if you can!
10 Ashwin, 1424 – DC Road, Chattogram

56 Chant, O My Heart, “Allah, Allah”

Chant, O my heart — Allah, Allah,
None but Allah is truly near and dear.
No peace compares, none so clear,
As the chant of His name sincere.

Allah — the One, the All-in-All,
Nothing beside Him can ever stand tall.
Forget Him once — and all shall fall,
Forget not, O heart, that priceless call.

No need to teach the heart its tone,
It knows what none has ever known.
I’ve found no mind like my own —
The heart equals only heart alone.

Nothing’s beyond what the heart can do,
Great or small, lofty or lowly too.
And I, the driver of my heart’s crew —
As I steer, so it will move through.
11 Ashwin, 1424 – DC Road, Chattogram

57 O Allah, Let Me Sail in Your Love

O Allah, within Your love I seek to sail,
Heaven and hell — I fail to unveil.
Your Judgment Day, I cannot scale,
I know not the laws of Your final tale.

Through this worship of love’s devotion,
Guide me across this sea of emotion.
Without Your love’s vast ocean,
I seek no gain, no earthly notion.

I may be guilty a thousand ways,
My deeds may fall in sinful maze;
Yet endless mercy Your heart displays —
Let it cover all my flawed arrays.

You are the ferryman across the tide,
Creator of worlds, none beside.
Sinner I am, yet You my guide —
In that trust alone, I abide.
14 Ashwin, 1424 – DC Road, Chattogram

58 You Made Me, O Lord

You made me, O Lord,
The finest of all created on earth.
Yet I, Your servant, have failed my worth,
Unworthy to bow, unworthy of birth.

I failed to worship You aright,
Failed to do one noble rite.
Step by step, I sigh in fright —
My failings haunt me day and night.

How shall I stand on Judgment Day?
How face Your law, what can I say?
I tremble, O Allah, in dismay—
What path for sinners shows the way?

No virtues shine within my span,
Still I hope — You, the Merciful One!
Save me, O Lord, by mercy’s plan—
By Your compassion, my pardon be won.
13 Kartik, 1424 – Manama, UAE

59 When the Time Comes to Cross

When the hour comes to cross the shore,
Who can bind me any more?
No prison can hold, no worldly door—
For this life’s cage shall be no more.

By destiny’s unseen thread I’m tied,
Bound so thinly—soon untied.
No delay when it’s time to divide—
Seen once, then lost from sight’s side.

Two days’ travel — that’s my stay,
A traveler I — forgot the way.
Tomorrow’s horn will call again,
Yet I forget that homeward lane.

Now I must leave as I came before,
Empty-handed to the final shore.
What’s glory worth in a world of lore?
This market of colors is vain to the core.
22 Kartik, 1424 – Manama, UAE

60 In Life’s Peril and Strife

In every peril, in every fight,
If You are with me, why fear the night?
Shall I close my eyes in fright?
And wait till danger fades from sight?
No — in each blow, in each strike,
I must rise, I must stand upright!

No, no, O Fate — You guard me sure,
But my blindness is the fault impure!
If I move not, how grant You grace?
Without the climb, who wins the race?
To quit the market — what trade remains?
To hide from hills — what worth attains?
24 Agrahayan, 1424 – Manama, UAE

61

In the Bazaar of Your Love

In the sacred bazaar of Your love, my Lord,
Let me trade with all my heart and word,
Send me not again to the distant field,
Let me rest by the holy stream I’ve heard.

O weary friend, too long I’ve roamed,
Wandering lost, with no path known,
Show me now the righteous road,
That I may walk where truth is sown.

Long I dwelt in doubt and strife,
In vain pursuits of worldly life,
Bound by all its work and rite,
Peace I see in life’s mere play.

Forget this world and its cruel ties,
Where hides the shade of paradise?
In the silent room of heart it lies,
When self-assurance lights the way.
23 Poush, Bangla 1424 — Manama, Emirates

62

Tears Flow Silently

Tears fall unceasing from my eyes,
My heart laments in silent cries—
This circle of love, these bonds we prize,
When I depart, will they remember me twice?
Tears fall unceasing from my eyes.

So much laughter, joy, and cheer,
So much noise of friends so near,
So many feasts and voices dear—
Will any recall when I disappear?
Tears fall unceasing from my eyes.

No, no—forgetting cannot be so small,
Moments do not fade on their own at all,
Love, and all its hues and call,
Will fade once hidden by life’s wall.
Tears fall unceasing from my eyes.
25 Poush, Bangla 1424 — Manama, Emirates

63

Why Do I Crave—Why Do I Cry

“Alas! I want—I crave!” but why, O why,
What home or kin shall ever stay nigh?
Today one leaves, tomorrow more,
And after a few days—none to implore,
Who will remember? None shall try.
What home or kin shall ever stay nigh?

Wife, children, parents—beloved all,
Bound with ties so tender, small;
Today a king, tomorrow I fall—
Each one turns face, none shall call,
At the shore beyond, none will reply.
What home or kin shall ever stay nigh?
27 Poush, Bangla 1424 — Manama, Emirates

64

I Know Not How to Love

I know not how to love at all,
How to find my dearest soul—
How shall I love, or reach that goal?
I know not how to love at all.

How to cherish, how to feel—
No sign of love within me real,
I know not how to measure the deal,
Of a love so rare, so whole.

How to be dear to the dearest one,
I know not how two hearts are won,
How to meet and become one—
How to be dear to the dearest one.

I know not how to find my Friend,
What life would mean if love should end,
I know not how to truly blend—
I know not how to love at all.
11 Magh, Bangla 1424 — Manama, Emirates

65

Every Moment I Think

Every moment I ponder deep,
Somehow today my hours I keep,
Every moment I think and weep—
Who knows tomorrow, what fate may creep?

Every moment’s analysis profound,
New truths in every thought are found,
Unfolding secrets of this round—
Some despair, some faith abound.

In wonder I ask myself:
Alas! What else is there to do?
In reason I ask myself:
If God exists, is it wrong to pursue?

“Let them talk, for ears can hear,
Many will mock, and some will sneer,
But sweating the head too much, my dear—
Those who trust, they have no fear.”
30 Magh, Bangla 1424 — Manama, Emirates

66

Who Denies the Lord?

Who are you, O atheist soul,
Denying the Power that makes you whole?
Look upon your very form—
See the signs, so pure, so warm,
Believe or not, His hand is in all control.

In this earth, in sky, in air divine,
Seek, O friend—you’ll find His sign.
Finite mind can only know a part,
Infinity hides beyond the heart—
He is One, the Great Sublime.
1 Falgun, Bangla 1424 — Manama, Emirates

67

Let Life Be Beautiful, and Death the Same

Let life be beautiful, and death the same,
What memory shall I leave behind my name?
If I err, if faults remain,
Even death may not cleanse the stain,
Good or bad, none shall escape the game.
Let life be beautiful, and death the same.

Who can deceive his very own?
If within himself the self is known!
Life passes through deeds of grace,
And evil fades to dust and space,
No work is lost—birth recalls its fame.
Let life be beautiful, and death the same.
16 Asharh, Bangla 1425 — Manama, Emirates

68

No One Feels My Pain But You

None but You can feel my pain,
This world is selfish for its gain!
Brothers, friends, all the same—
In self-interest lies their claim,
None will help if no profit they obtain.

None can offer self to others,
Who thinks for all as true brothers?
Few indeed can ever be,
The masters of pure empathy—
A heart that gives without refrain.
20 Asharh, Bangla 1425 — Manama, Emirates

69

I Have Heard, I Have Known

I have heard and deeply known,
Within my heart, through truth alone—
I cannot say, “Thou art not!”
I have wandered, I have roamed,
Met the strange, the far, the known—
Yet found Thee filling every spot.

I have felt Thee, joy and sorrow,
In every tear, in each tomorrow;
Without Thee life has no hue—
Without Thee, nothing rings true.

I have walked and I have sought,
The path of rules, of lessons taught;
Without Thee, no destiny stands,
With Thee, I hold life in my hands.

Let them think or not, as they may,
Let them say or not, what they say,
May evil never conquer me—
From all conflicts, Lord, set me free.
22 Srabon, Bangla 1425 — Manama, Emirates

70

O Brother, Why Worship You Not the Lord

Who are you, my brother dear,
Who never worships God in fear?
Your prayer is wrong, your way unsure,
You’ve lost the path, of that be clear.

You’ll find no peace, no happy fate,
No fortune good, however late;
Till your heart is right and whole—
Your prayer remains a faulty role.

If time slips by in jest and play,
You’ll never get those hours again;
At the edge of life’s long field—
You’ll seek what’s lost, but all in vain.

Lost in knowing, you remain unwise,
Seeking, yet blind to what underlies;
Failing to grasp what truth reveals—
Your path is tangled, your worship unreal.
27 Bhadra, Bangla 1425 — Manama, Emirates

71

O My Mind, Listen—Don’t Be a Fool

O my mind, listen now—
Don’t be foolish somehow.
Let the world forget you if they may,
But forget not your Friend, I say.

All that’s called “life’s relation,”
Whom has it helped, in what occasion?
Give and take, and end in void—
This world no one has ever enjoyed.
O my mind, don’t be a fool.

Remember, you must one day go—
Nothing here will come to show.
What you’ve done will stay, that’s all,
The rest shall fade beyond recall.

All bring hearts, but few are kind,
Few keep love in heart and mind;
Be human in heart, not only in name—
Then alone you’ll earn true fame.
O my mind, don’t be a fool.
7 Ashwin, Bangla 1425 — Manama, Emirates

72

This Colorful Drama of Earth

This colorful drama of earth
Will go on tomorrow,
And forever shall it flow—
Only I shall not be here tomorrow.

Tomorrow flowers will bloom again,
Birds will sing in every glen;
Laughter and life will circle round,
The wheel will spin, the song resound—
Only I shall not be here tomorrow.

Whether I stay or fade away,
Does it matter anyway?
Who will remember me at all—
Many like me rise and fall.

The world dreams its own desire,
Living by its self-made fire;
The race goes on, the dream will follow—
Only I shall not be here tomorrow.
17 Ashwin, Bangla 1425 — Manama, Emirates

73

This Matter Bothers Me Deeply

This matter troubles me much, my friend—
Tell me the secret, will you, in the end?
Why is life designed this way—
Some laugh bright, some cry all day—
Why so unfair, I can’t comprehend.

One has no home, one a golden hall,
One’s tears flood, one’s pleasures call;
One starves in hunger, one feasts with pride,
One forgets thanks, though work supplied—
Tell me the secret, my friend, after all!
22 Ashwin, Bangla 1425 — Manama, Emirates

74

A Regret Remains Within My Heart

A regret remains within my heart,
O my love, I played no worthy part;
No wisdom, no virtue gained,
No noble act my life attained—
No beauty born with me from start.

You may ask, my dearest friend,
What I became, what was my end—
Why this sorrow without cease?
Even to be human is no small piece;
And I—am I human, truly at heart?
A regret remains within my heart.
22 Ashwin, Bangla 1425 — Manama, Emirates

75

O Merciful Lord

O Merciful One!
In Your mercy I am drowned for sure,
You are Compassionate—of that I’m pure,
No doubt, O Lord of Grace!

When You say “Be,” it comes to be,
When You say “Stop,” all ends at sea;
In Your hand lies rise and fall—
Mercy binds and governs all.

O Kindhearted Lord!
Those who drink pain’s hidden chord,
How long must they suffer still—
Grant them peace, if it be Your will.

Who’s humiliated here is crowned there,
The hungry know not the “fair” or “unfair”;
To the fasting soul, glory’s a toy—
O Compassionate Lord,
In Your mercy I am drowned for sure.
30 Ashwin, Bangla 1425 — Manama, Emirates

76 The Supplicant

I, the supplicant, call upon You, O Allah—
Not seeking joy or comfort for myself.
Nor praying for my children’s fortune,
But that peace and order may remain in this world.

Protect us—save the earth from decay,
Great disasters rise and will rise again.
My solace lies that You are the Protector—
I, the supplicant, call upon You, O Allah.

My time will come—the days are few,
The call to depart whispers in my ear.
Does the dying soul’s prayer reach You, I know not,
Yet may all the homeless and weary find peace.

I see cities fading one after another,
I hear the sound of ruin in deep sleep—
The tearful cries of the dispossessed echo—
I, the supplicant, call upon You, O Allah.
3 Kartik 1425 – Manama, UAE

77

Alas Lord

Alas, Lord! Alas, Lord!
How much more cruel will the world become?
Alas, Lord! Alas, Lord!

Son murdered by father’s hand
Father by son’s!
Brother murdered by brother’s hand
Normal, today’s world!
What else is left, then?
Alas, Lord! Alas, Lord!

How much more! How much more!
In the market of heartless love, how many lovers slain?
How much more! How much more!

Wife murdered by husband’s plot
Husband by wife’s!
Beloved murdered by lover’s plot
In the market of deceit, lovers die!
How much more will the savagery increase?
Alas, Lord! Alas, Lord!

7 Kartik 1425 – Manama, UAE

78 It Seems, My Time Is Over

It seems—it’s gone,
My days are almost done!
Throw away, O brother,
This trade of misfortune.

When the storm breaks and crushes all,
If I find no place to stand—
Think well, will your ground remain
Unshaken, untouched, or gone?
Throw away, O brother,
This trade of misfortune.

In greed for gold, you’ve lost your sense,
Is it only gain you crave?
“Too much greed ruins the weaver”—
Do you grasp what wisdom it gave?

“If you have sense, you need no age,
Without it, ninety years are waste;
Old words of wisdom stay the same—
Though today they sound out of taste.”
It seems—it’s gone,
My days are almost done!
11 Kartik 1425 – Manama, UAE

79 Make Them Conscience-Aware, O God

Grant conscience, O God, to those
Who act without it in their deeds.
Show them where their place should be—
They perish seeking Heaven in greed.

A mountain of guilt has risen high,
Show them, Lord, the way to mend;
Paradise is far from reach—
They burn in Hell by their own hand.

Teach them pity, show them pain—
Those who never feel for others,
Who gain without giving, take without loss—
They’ll never know a brother’s sorrow.

They paint symbols of faith on their breast,
Yet their acts defile the creed;
They are no followers of any truth,
They sing religion for selfish need.
13 Kartik 1425 – Manama, UAE

Mother, Place a Pure Mark on My Brow

Mother, place a pure white tilak on my brow,
Let all stains of my heart fade in a breath.
Pray for me, Mother—let my eyes be holy,
Forever seeing the shadow of my Master’s feet.

All life long my blind mind doubted—
Let it now bow before the Lord’s bond.
Let the fool within know—there is no path
To peace in any false disguise.
Mother, place a pure white tilak on my brow,
Let all stains of my heart fade in a breath.

What hope still feeds my waiting heart, O Mother?
Who awakens longing but never appears?
Tell me, in what humble way must I bow—
To find that hidden Beloved’s trace?

I wish not for the sky of light—
If His presence shines not within it.
At life’s farewell, let my heart find rest—
That He was with me, in love, to the end.
Pray for me, Mother—let my eyes be holy,
Forever seeing the shadow of my Master’s feet.
15 Kartik 1425 – Manama, UAE

81
Secret Love for the Beloved

The One I love in secret, in silence
How shall I tell that love to Him in words?
How can I express my heart’s confession —
Within me burns a longing to possess,
My soul stands eager for that union’s grace.
The One I love in secret, in silence.

I can forget all — but not, O friend, you,
Without your love, my heart is hollow too.
Let life’s essence be only this vow —
That in death I whisper your name somehow;
Beyond this, my heart desires nothing anew.
How shall I tell that love to Him in words?
21 Kartik, 1425 — Manama, UAE

Head Bowed on Earth

When my head bows, it rises like a mountain
Upon this earth’s wide shore.
I lower my head only at His feet —
Always, endlessly, moment by moment —
Upon this earth’s wide shore.

No palace of temptation, no hall of greed
Shall ever make this head concede.
I can surrender my life in hunger’s storm,
But never endure the scorn of shame —
Upon this earth’s wide shore.

I have not — do not — will not flatter anyone,
Nor please the Lord by hollow pretension.
Let this brief life fade to its end,
Yet never shall I bear a coward’s brand —
Nor please the Lord by hollow pretension.

Better the beggar’s bowl of the brave
Than the throne of the spineless slave.
In all creation, nothing small is sin —
Sin begins when the soul grows thin —
Upon this earth’s wide shore.
25 Kartik, 1425 — Manama, UAE

God, Hear Not the Grass’s Cry

O God,
Let not the grass weep anymore —
Though I wish to speak, I cannot endure.
I will sing no more of peace’s hue,
For truth-telling brings sorrow too.

O God,
Show me no more your stern decree —
More devils roam than angels free.
Today’s life becomes tomorrow’s jest —
Truth-telling brings sorrow’s test.

O God,
Had You given man the unseen might,
He’d never accept You as the Light.
With this little, man is proud enough —
Had You given more — You know his bluff.

O God,
Show where the vile and lowly dwell,
I must learn how fallen souls fell.
Then silence me, end my sob —
For truth-telling brings sorrow, Lord.
27 Kartik, 1425 — Manama, UAE

Gratitude for the Divine Path

Shokran — Gratitude
You’ve shown me a path divine,
You’ve made the tuneless voice sing fine.
This blessing — immortal, sweet —
Shokran, I repeat.

Never thought I’d stand one day
Upon such a wondrous stage;
Infinite mercy — day by day —
Makes me Your debtor in every way.
I may forget myself, but not this grace —
Shokran, I embrace.

In my world, though mountains of grief remain,
Let not Your praise fall silent again;
I may hide myself, but not Your scent —
This gratitude is permanent.
Shokran — from my soul complete.
2 Agrahayan, 1425 — Manama, UAE

Death Comes One Day

Death will come one day —
I too must die someday.
Yet may that death be worthy of death —
That is all I pray.

O Beloved, if You take away my life,
Grant not a death of shame or strife;
Let this heart go smiling, free,
Only to unite with Thee.
Death will come one day —
I too must die someday.

Let it not pass as a coming and going —
Let life hold some true meaning showing.
For life is vain, as wise men say,
Unless some good is left one day.

Teach me, Lord, what life may be,
If good deeds define its legacy;
Then let my living be that way —
Let me live, completely.
Death will come one day —
I too must die someday.
11 Agrahayan, 1425 — Manama, UAE

86

Will the World Remember Me

Will the world remember me, I wonder,
When I depart from this earth tomorrow?
Did I ever do a deed, even once,
That the world would recall me for?

I too am a child of this earth,
Tried to make it my own with love.
I too had dreams—to leave behind some work,
That the world would remember me for.

All come to this world empty-handed,
And return empty—how few understand life!
Whoever learns the meaning of birth,
Leaves behind a legacy worth remembering.

The wise don’t crave to be honored—
To be remembered is honor enough.
Alas, I couldn’t become a name to cherish—
That the world would remember me for.
29 Agrahayanh, 1425 – Manama, Emirates

87

Whom Shall I Tell My Heart’s Grief

Whom shall I tell my heart’s deep sorrow?
Except You, who else knows, O All-Knower?
A father feels not a son’s pain,
A son feels not his father’s strain,
All in this world chant selfish hymns—only You understand—
Whom shall I tell my heart’s deep sorrow?

Brothers, friends, and all dear kin,
I call them close, but none will listen in.
If wealth I have, they worship me,
If power I lose, they flee swiftly.
If heart there be—selfless, it’s You only—
Whom shall I tell my heart’s deep sorrow?
22 Boishakh, 1426 – D.C. Road, Chattogram

88

Where Are You, My Beloved Friend

Where are You, my dearest friend?
How shall I find You again?
Where shall I see Your face—
In waking thought or dreamlike haze?

Those who’ve seen You with the inner eye
Forgot the world, forgot the self thereby.
When will You bless me with that sacred call—
Like Mansur, I’d embrace that fall!
Where are You, my dearest friend?
How shall I find You again?

Do they speak yet fail to see—
Was the world made without Thee?
I know—without You, O Divine,
There is no order, no design!

As easy as I sing of life’s song,
So hard to find where the Unknown belongs.
I can’t understand my very being—
How can I grasp You, O unseen King?
Where are You, my dearest friend?
How shall I find You again?
30 Boishakh, 1426 – D.C. Road, Chattogram

89

Creator! If You Created Me

Creator! If You truly made me—
No, no—I have no doubt in Thee.
Then why this endless pondering?
Because of all the words I see.

You showed a world so beautiful—
Yet hearts are full of disapproval.
Where does this discord come from?
No, no—I have no doubt in Thee.

I live in fear of Judgment Day,
Crying—where will I have my stay?
I think of that eternal ray—
And lose myself completely.

Let all think what they may,
And perish in their thoughts someday—
Let me live—under Thy shade—
Creator! If You truly made me.
14 Joishtha, 1426 – D.C. Road, Chattogram

90

The Wonders I Behold

I see the fruitful trees—
How do they bear their fruits?
I see the rain-filled skies—
How do they pour their roots?

The river flows unendingly,
Meets the sea, waves rising free,
This vast creation’s wheel I see—
Endlessly revolving before me.

I find no end to my wonder—
Why fruit without a flower’s thunder?
Why on a banyan’s height so small a seed,
And vines yield crops in humble need?

Why does stone float in the air,
And sink not in the water’s glare?
A thousand marvels this world displays—
Yet the human heart deceives always.
24 Joishtha, 1426 – D.C. Road, Chattogram

I Know Not Worship

I know not devotion,
Nor any form of prayer—
Yet You know the secrets of my heart.
I wish to say one thing,
But speak another,
In my words, there’s no proper mark or art.

What have I gained in this life?
Seeking, I find only the void;
All my designs seem vain and inert.

Your words, pure in their motion,
Aren’t pure by mere recitation;
Even when I read right—I still err.
This act of mine, this servitude,
How can it find true life or virtue,
If You withhold mercy—even by a hair?

What will become of me, what fate?
I ponder that destined state,
For within me—my heart is not there.
23 Asharh, 1426 – Manama, UAE

My Lord, Merciful

My Lord, the Merciful,
Surely created me with grace—
Indeed, He is Compassionate.

I was scattered in naught,
He brought me into being,
And I found a boundless identity.

If I turn ungrateful,
I deny myself,
And I become my own deceiver.

Who understands without knowing?
In ignorance, we make ourselves guilty,
My heart comprehends so little goodness.
13 Shraban, 1426 – Manama, UAE

Grateful for Thy Mercy

Benevolent One,
I cannot offer thanks enough—
Not in a thousand lifetimes.
Sublime One,
No words can capture Your greatness—
No ink can ever suffice.

How may my tongue praise You,
When You are above millions of praises?
Virtuous One,
Let me sing Your glories more,
And expand the limits of my knowing mind.

In life,
All else is deception but You;
Let me not be lost in those delusions.
How,
By what devotion, may I find You?
Lead me—lead me to that sacred destination.

Upon the path where You reveal Yourself,
Shorten for me that distance, O Compassionate;
By Your mercy, cover me entire,
So I may find my way—find You in boundless skies.
13 Agrahayan, 1426 – Manama, UAE

Came to Earth in Thy Love

By Your love I came to this earth,
And by Your command I shall depart again;
Between those times, in disarray,
I spent my days—I now understand.

Everything moves at Your command,
Planets, stars, all in discipline stand;
Who then drives me to disorder’s state?
Between those times, I drifted misplaced.

Can I walk by any power of mine,
If You grant not the strength to move?
It’s You who directs each step I take,
And I think my path is right and true.

When You show the road so clear,
What ruin misleads me from near?
Who leads astray upon false routes?
By Your love I came to this earth.
26 Agrahayan, 1426 – Manama, UAE

Creator, Made Me Small

Creator!
You made me small—no sorrow in that,
But make me not small-minded.
Separate!
You made Yourself beyond compare,
Yet never apart from my heart.

You showed me all the lowliness of creation,
And still I weep for fleeting breath—
Alas!
Born in this vast universe,
Still thinking in narrow worlds.

I have seen!
The difference between earth and sky—
Less than the depth of the heart.
I have found!
Whatever little harmony exists,
Lives within thought’s enchantment.

If the heart can grow vast,
All thrones are but small before it.
O human!
If you can live devotedly,
No life can equal yours.
6 Poush, 1426 – Manama, UAE

Endlessly My Heart Weeps

Endlessly, my heart weeps—
Weeps without end!
Why does my soul cry so deep?
I cannot comprehend.

All I’ve gained in this blessed life,
And all I’ve missed—no grief, no strife;
Yet what I leave behind is my only thought—
What have I given to this earth I’ve sought?
Endlessly, my heart weeps—
Weeps without end!

All I’ve done—every act of mine,
Seems to me now wrong!
Living selfishly through time,
To self alone I’ve belonged.

Now, at life’s farthest shore,
I see the ache in the chest hurts more—
If anything of “mine” still remains,
It’s buried in my deeds of yore.
Endlessly, my heart weeps—
Weeps without end!
26 Poush, 1426 – Manama, UAE

In the Greatest Deeds

In the noblest of deeds,
In the Creator’s creed,
I’ve seen the marks divine;
With skill and might,
Through purposeful sight,
Creation has been designed.

Whatever the heart conceives,
If the heart is pure, all perceives;
Among trees and blooms,
At life’s deep roots,
I’ve found meaning—sublime.
In the noblest of deeds,
In the Creator’s creed,
I’ve seen the marks divine.

In a poor man’s sorrow,
Only the poor will follow—
Such is the fate of misery;
In a rich man’s delight,
The rich take flight—
That too is harmony’s decree.

Kin draw kin through their own bond,
Without that tie, all seem fond;
In rain-fed streams,
The rivers gleam,
Never hostile in unity.
With skill and might,
Through purposeful sight,
Creation has been designed.
30 Poush, 1426 – Manama, UAE

In the World of Wealth

O Wealthy One,
I came to Your world
With no desire for trade.
O Generous Lord,
I sought but the right
To serve—the spirit’s sovereign aid.

You did not grant me strength enough,
So I gave nothing from my trove;
My fate’s vessel was far too rough,
And struck my heart with heavy blow.
O Wealthy One,
I came to Your world
With no desire for trade.

See—
The poor weep before my eyes,
Their sorrow my own sorrow;
But oh—
Let the joyful always smile,
That is my humble prayer to follow.

The ungrateful find no peace,
The envious never find release;
What memory of life shall I leave behind—
When I dine beside my hollow?
O Wealthy One,
I came to Your world
With no desire for trade.
10 Magh, 1426 – Manama, UAE

Not Safe in Father’s Arms

Safe no longer in a father’s arms,
Nor free from harm in a mother’s embrace—
Today’s child!
What place remains on this wide earth
More secure for sons and daughters?
Tell me, O Lord?

Why,
Has mercy fled these bonds of care?
Why does a kiss of love
Now poison, unaware?
Tell me, O Lord?

How cruel must one become
To slay their own child,
How bestial the heart?
How cold must the soul grow numb
That even a parent’s love
Turns to a blade so sharp?

You’ve shown, within a mother’s lap,
The peril a child can meet at birth;
And in a father’s shelter, what sorrowed map—
Where now is safety, O Lord of Earth?
Tell me, O Lord?
14 Magh, 1426 – Manama, UAE

100

You Speak of Progress

You say,
You are leading the world toward progress.
We say,
We are circling closer to extinction.

Between your words and our vision
Lies a gulf of light-years in distance.
What thought remains?
We are building our ruin—together, in unison.

We’ve heard,
“When your neighbor’s house burns,
Your own will soon ignite.”
True indeed—
Even the onlooker to the blaze finds no refuge in sight.

We ponder—whatever our fate may be,
Still, we wish you well sincerely;
We pray—
Even if we perish, may your homes survive eternally.
17 Magh, 1426 – Manama, UAE

101
Who Are You, O Kind-Hearted One

Who are you, O kind-hearted one!
Calling friends to win the heaven’s sun?
Your deeds are great, truly divine,
A good friend, indeed—
When the traveler is burdened, such friendship is all he’ll need!
Only the faithful understand this line.

Yet, I fail to see the clue—
Of which Creator are you a view?
Has Destiny commanded you, too,
To lead the lost to light anew?

Alright, I see your reason true!
But do you think only your path is right through?
Is salvation really that easy?
This devotion, this worship of life—
Who can claim it grants eternal life?
Purity may dwell, yet doubt clings too.

My darkened fate and faulty prayer,
Perhaps my sins made me unfair!
Maybe I am the elder of the astray,
And Hell’s fire will take me first that day.
7 Falgun 1426 – Manama, UAE

102
Nothing Exists Beyond Your Love

What remains in life,
Without your love’s light?
Nothing I find, however I try—
In your boundless ocean of love,
My heart yearns to drift and die.

O friend, drown me deep
In your infinite affection,
Let this heart lose itself in your reflection.
Let me sink beyond all ends—
In your limitless ocean, where love transcends.

I no longer dwell within myself,
Such a lover you’ve made me, O Beloved elf!
Where shall I find you—how, where, when?
My days pass lifeless without you again and again.

You—you—you!—my beads repeat your name,
Forever and ever, my dearest flame.
Shall I not see you within this finite dream?
What remains in life,
Without your love’s gleam?
2 Chaitra 1426 – Manama, UAE

103
Why Does My Heart Desire You So

Why does my heart
Desire you so?
I do not know, I do not know—
Yet my heart surely knows.

How did you make me this mad,
This crazy, this gone-with-the-wind lad?
Alas, alas—each passing beat,
You’ve made my mind repeat.

How can I speak
These words of yearning deep?
Tell me, tell me,
How can I explain
This madness within my brain?
Why does my heart
Desire you so again?

O dearest of my soul,
Where are you, my goal?
Will I, will I
Ever see you nigh?
Though my gaze bears no flow,
Will you, will you
Let this love show?

This sorrow will ever stay,
If I lose you away—
Never shall it fade,
This ache of the unsaid.
Why does my heart
Desire you so?
18 Chaitra 1426 – Manama, UAE

104
I Never Desired Name or Wealth

In this life, I never desired
Name nor wealth admired,
For if in the next I gain no grace—
What value has this earthly place?

Between this world and that beyond,
Who knows how wide the bond?
My mind says—peace here is brief,
A fleeting calm, swallowed by grief.
In this life, I never desired
Name nor wealth admired.

Those who wept through nights and days,
Will surely drink from Heaven’s ways,
And those who seized others’ joy,
Will see their crowns destroyed.

Here, the poor in sorrow abide,
There, in bliss they’ll reside;
The wretched here shall there find light,
Their pain turned pure delight.
In this life, I never desired
Name nor wealth admired.
22 Chaitra 1426 – Manama, UAE

105
A Fierce Wind Blows Around Me Today

Around me blows a fierce, strange wind,
How many days are left—I cannot find!
Each is leaving each behind,
The world now plagued, mankind blind.

Who will cry for whom today?
Silent tears drown every way,
The world’s in mourning’s endless haze—
Alas, what bitter days!
Around me blows a fierce, strange wind.

Let them go, if they must flee,
But I’ll not neglect my duty, see?
In service lives the truest piety—
More than prayers or sanctity.

For in worship lies reward,
But serving life pleases the Lord;
Who’s blessed to do one act of grace—
Earns Heaven’s own embrace.
How many days are left—I cannot find!
Yet I’ll serve while still confined.
24 Chaitra 1426 – Manama, UAE

106
Where Lies the Fallen Nation

Where, in the rhythm of Your end, is the soil—
Stop it, stop—restrain the turmoil!
Where is that humiliated nation once known?
Bless them, O Lord—make them Your own.

Where are the luckless ones,
Whose tears flow day by day?
Where the helpless wander astray—
Protect them, save them, show the way.

Where is the court of unjust rule—
Break it—crush the tyrant’s tool!
Where the reign of terror grows—
Destroy, O Lord, destroy those foes.

Where, where, in the lands of pain,
Slavery’s palace rises again,
Where the meek are tortured in vain—
Stop it, O Lord, end their bane.
2 Boishakh 1427 — Manama, UAE

107
Do Not Deceive Yourself

In your endless greed and lust for gain,
You may deceive me—yes, I’ll bear the pain.
But, O brother, never deceive yourself—
Win the market of life with honest wealth.

All the deceit you trade today,
You’ll repay in full another day.
Those who think deceit is wise,
Are fools who set their own house on fire—
Burning trust, their greatest loss entire.
5 Boishakh 1427 — Manama, UAE

108
Dream of the Beggar and the King

Once in a dream, I saw myself
A beggar, wandering from door to door—
My heart restless, chasing more and more.
Another night I dreamt instead
A mighty king, crowned on his head—
Yet, the hunger of desire grew ever sore.

I ran across mountains, chasing gain,
The more I earned, the more the pain—
Peace fled far, and joy was slain,
And “happiness,” lost, came never again.

Awake, I pondered what dreams convey—
Peace lives in little, not in array.
The joy of plenty is but war’s decay,
Friend, understand if you may—
Between peace and pleasure lies great dismay.

Who can I tell what truth I found?
The more you crave, the less you’re sound—
Big hopes bring big despair profound,
None understands till life’s flames surround.
11 Boishakh 1427 — Manama, UAE

109
The Lost Traveler

Among you once came
A traveler lost and lame—
He stayed beside you all the day,
Yet found no way, no heart to stay.
He left—
The wanderer lost his way.

He came with love as his gift to bear,
Returned in tears, in deep despair,
His heart burned in silent prayer—
He left,
The wanderer lost his way.

He came not seeking gold or fame,
But to give—oh, noble aim.
Did he find a soul the same?
His path was long, his hope grew dim—
He left,
The wanderer lost his way.

Back he went to his lonely home,
Empty-handed, pride undone.
Ashamed to say he gained but pain—
He left,
The wanderer lost his way.
14 Boishakh 1427 — Manama, UAE

110
Hear Me, O Lord

Hear me, O Lord—
A servant’s humble prayer,
Raising hands to the sky so bare.
He who never called Your name—
How shall he escape the flame?
Today, this sinner seeks Your grace—
Forgive him in Your sacred place.

O my Master, Merciful and Just,
Do not test me beyond my trust.
O Allah, O Most Kind, Most Great,
Let not my scales lean to fate.
Lost upon the road of sin,
Your servant pleads to be taken in.
Hear me, O Lord—
A servant’s humble prayer.
17 Boishakh 1427 — Manama, UAE

111
I Ask You, My Merciful Lord

I ask You, O Khoda,
Save me on that dreadful day,
O my Merciful,
O Fountain of Compassion.

In that field of Judgment,
You will stand in wrath,
On the strict scales of reckoning,
You will judge Your servant.
I ask You, O Khoda,
Save me on that dreadful day.

If I have committed sins,
Do not disgrace me,
Do not give me Jannat, rather—
Save me from Jahannam’s flame.

I cannot bear such burning heat,
How shall I endure that fire?
With mercy upon a sinner’s heart,
Look upon me just once.
O my Merciful,
O Fountain of Compassion.

3 Jyoistha, 1427 — Manama, UAE

112
Kun Faya Kun

Kun
Fayakun, Fayakun,
Kun Fayakun.
So matchless,
O Allah, You and all You’ve created—
How wondrously matchless!
Kun Fayakun.

“Lahul mulku wa lahul hamdu wa huwa
‘ala kulli shay’in qadeer.”
How shall I praise You, O Creator?
You are the incomparable Founder,
The universe still expands by Your decree—
Kun Fayakun.

Allahu,
La ilaha illa Huwa,
Al-Hayyul Qayyum.
In the broken cities of tomorrow
Shall rise the smokes of the East—
You are Al-Hayyul Qayyum.

“Laqad khalaqnal insana
fi ahsani taqwim.”
Grateful we are for Your mercy,
Yet human cannot repay it fully;
If You will, may we fulfill it,
Kun Fayakun.

24 Asharh, 1427 — Manama, UAE

113
Have You Asked Yourself, Abed

When you leave your home, you are a human being,
Meet other humans,
Have you seen discrimination among them?
At home, in religious centers, national pride—
Hundreds of doubts arise!
Have you asked yourself, Abed?

In flesh and blood, humans are alike,
Who made you different, do you know?
Who is the craftsman of race, O Lord,
To separate one from another,
Creating such distinctions?
Have you asked yourself, Abed?

At birth, do you see the color?
Were you born in a specific locality?
You learn all in sequence!
Death will take you to the grave,
Laid in a coffin and pyre—
Leaving behind only the mark of color?

The Creator exists, absolute truth;
It is hard to find the Creator in creation!
In truth resides the shadow of the Creator,
Following the path of truth,
Obstacles will rise like mountains!
Have you asked yourself, Abed?

11 Bhadra, 1427 — Manama, UAE

114
Failures in Life

I could not be a good son,
Nor a good brother to anyone,
Could not be a good husband to Zaya,
Nor a good father at that.

Those who went knee-deep for me,
I could not immerse my throat for them,
For those I drowned entirely,
Their eyes’ pain—that’s the sorrow!

What did I achieve in life?
I kept no account of any deed.
Life is giving itself to the world,
I sit trying to reconcile the accounts.

Regret remains for every failure to give,
In the endless ledger of give-and-take,
Could not benefit the benefactor—
Only sorrow remains in my heart.

13 Ashwin, 1427 — Manama, UAE

115
There is No One Like My Mother

Who exists in this world—none like my mother,
Who had this noble desire,
To expand the heart—
None like my mother.

She wanted to fill the world,
To give everything she had,
If only all had hearts like hers—
None like my mother.

Perhaps even if I searched, I wouldn’t find—
The poor and poverty,
Perhaps the world’s suffering wouldn’t exist—
Struggle and scarcity—
The poor and poverty.

A king in heart, a fakir in heart,
In heart the remembrance of the best,
Who keeps open hands endlessly—
None like my mother.

18 Ashwin, 1427 — Manama, UAE

116
Descend from the Palace, O Owner of Prosperity

Once leave your palace
And come down—see,
O Owner of Prosperity!
Feel, just once, the anguish
Of the struggling hearts—
How compassionate it is!

The houses in the sky
Humans will never understand,
Ask of the life
On the roadside,
Understand the path well.
Once leave your palace
And come down—see,
O Owner of Prosperity!

What you build painstakingly,
Will not succeed in any deed!
Step out onto the path, walk,
See where humanity
Is devoured by worms!

In serving life you will gain
What palaces cannot give,
In helping every living being,
Do not seek death, just once,
What comfort is there in death?
Once leave your palace
And come down—see,
O Owner of Prosperity!

22 Ashwin, 1427 — Manama, UAE

117
I No Longer Like This Life

I no longer like this
Troubled life.
I can no longer see the oppression
Of the helpless.
From one to a hundred rapes,
Children and elders cannot survive!
Hearing the cries of thousands of violated,
Only the heart weeps.
I no longer like this
Troubled life.

Perhaps I made the court below
Weak and unsteady!
Why is Your supreme law above
Rendered ineffective?
Terrible—the punishment so fearsome—
Why is man the scourge of man?
From beginning till now, I have seen
The rise of the plunderers.
I no longer like this
Troubled life.

24 Ashwin, 1427 — Manama, UAE

118
I Am a Wanderer

I am a traveler of distant roads,
A lost wanderer—never found.
All harmonious tunes of life
Lost—never to be found.
Born with the sorrow of life,
Perhaps I could not find the flow—
Lost wanderer—never found.

This life, this fleeting existence,
Mistakenly, repeatedly lost.
If one remembers, one gains
True success—success indeed.
Amid simplicity
Perhaps there is pain
For those on the path of truth—
Lost—never found.

1 Kartik, 1427 — Manama, UAE

119
Grateful I Am to Humanity

The story of my life
I’ve woven well—but very little.
My complaint? None at all.
Blessed am I, blessed,
No jinns or angels intervened,
I call myself blessed because I am human.

Even if vile insects could act,
My body did not allow such ugliness,
In this wealth, I consider myself richer than all—
I call myself blessed because I am human.

Moreover, if given subtle
Intellect,
If remembered? The heart bears no sorrow at all.
See the hands and feet,
The light of eyes—
I understand their true value.

Never could I—could never
Forget You in such pain,
Let the stream of gratitude flow in this heart—
I call myself blessed because I am human.

29 Kartik, 1427 — Manama, UAE

120
O Allah, Your Love for Your Servants

O Allah, You loved Your servants so,
So large is Your heart!
How many dangers and trials
You sent to test—
Yet You understand.

See, the stars call to You,
What humility is displayed!
The crookedness of hearts inside,
Only You know—
Yet You still provide sustenance.
O Allah, You loved Your servants so,
So large is Your heart!

Whom I love most,
The heart knows—
You know, I know.
Let the world say what it will,
If they knew,
You are not the All-Seeing.

Those whom You make kings of hearts,
In the kingdom of wealth or people!
This heart wishes to give,
To anyone—everyone—
Praise be to You, for understanding this.
O Allah, You loved Your servants so,
So large is Your heart!

30 Kartik, 1427 — Manama, UAE

121
A Drop of Happiness

I could not perceive a single drop of happiness in life!
Yet, I am in bliss.
Though happiness did not claim me as its own,
Though peace stays distant,
Yet, I am in bliss.

“Then happiness and peace are good,
Life is black and white,
This light, this darkness,
Hours hold a little more shadow,”
Yet, I am in bliss.

If the realm of pleasure is built
With the sickness of unrest!
Where is the happiness of that joy?
If in a tiny hut
Comfortable sleep rests,
Tell me, which is the greater happiness?
Where is the happiness of that joy?

“Health is the root of all happiness,
Money the limit of everything,
Without wealth life is stagnant,
Even earning virtue requires some wealth,”
Yet, I am in bliss.
11 Agrahayonh, 1427 — Manama, UAE

122
Emptiness Willing

I am already destitute by nature,
Make me more so, O God.
I only wish to see once
How much they laugh at derision.

Those who rejoice in my destitution,
Alas, if I could give,
Make it memorable for them—
I only wish to see once.

How I died in devotion,
And saw foes even among my own.
Brother, friend, all bound by interest,
At the end, who remains near?

I know the benefit and harm,
I tried to understand my measure,
I realized—it is like filling a sandy shore with water—
Make me more destitute, O God.
13 Agrahayanh, 1427 — Manama, UAE

123
Steadfast Faith

O Lord,
As long as breath remains in my body,
Keep my steps unwavering
Amid all suffering.
Never let my heart weaken,
Though a hundred calamities strike,
Let self-confidence stay firm.

Whatever trust I place in You,
Never let it break in any circumstance.
If bowed, let it be beneath Your threshold—
Keep my self-confidence steadfast.

My smallest desire,
No, let me not attain it at all.
Even a little petition, let it be denied—
Make me accept this duality.

Test me—do so,
But no matter how great the pain,
Do not weaken in desire
To break the wall of sincerity—
Keep self-confidence steadfast.

9 Poush, 1427 — Manama, UAE

124
The Fault of a Servant

Entangled in worldly desires,
I lost my way in the path of devotion.
Tell me, what fault lies with the servant?
Yet I claim my own guilt—
Forgive me, O God,
Is there forgiveness for me?

Fifty-two years passed, O Lord,
Yet You never once called me!
What if, from birth,
My heart had been bowed at Your feet—
Tell me, what fault lies with the servant?

The forms shown to mankind,
Even in dreams, remain in memory,
Even if I err, I cannot forget!
The dealings of this world
And the lessons shown—
Will they ever help?

Now, is it time to seek life anew?
If You gave knowledge, it was enough—
At the end, I understand!
I act, I do as much as I can,
Perhaps it will suffice a little,
Or perhaps it will be in vain—
Tell me, what fault lies with the servant?

24 Poush, 1427 — Manama, UAE

125
The Hypocrisy of Piety

“Paradise, Paradise,” cry those who die and kill—
O Lord, tell me, have they truly reached the gates of Heaven?
“Religion, Religion,” shout those who spread enmity—
Say, can they ever be truly righteous in Your sight?

When goodness is shown, do they seek to understand it?
Who knows the darkness hidden in their hearts?
Outwardly, they appear saints and ascetics—
Tell me, can such beings be called virtuous men?

They rush chanting “Islam, Islam,” yet stray,
Say, how much of Islam do they truly hold?
“Quran, Quran,” they shout while walking the crooked path—
Tell me, do they understand the Quran at all?

No matter how clearly the path is shown,
The lost wanderers see only danger!
Those who proclaim “safety, safety” while leading astray,
Tell me, are they truly on the safe path themselves?

When will Your religion be made complete,
As promised through the ninety-nine Prophets
and Muhammad’s blessed arrival?
If established firmly until the Day of Judgment,
Why then do new calls for jihad sound anew?

If Your word is final, then “No, No,”
How dare the sky-bound audacious ones attempt?
How many more “bands of misguidance” will grow?
Why do You not seize their right hands, then?

The wheels of conspiracies turn endlessly,
“Kill, Kill!” “Cut, Cut!”—where is this in Islam?
Tell me, where do You establish religion
When left in the hands of the wicked?

When the beauty of religion is bound in “bundles and packs,”
Like nomads carrying cloth bundles on head and shoulder,
And plates strapped to their waists, wandering from land to land,
What divine essence of faith is left in such a wandering life?
All the acts that destroy the beauty of religion—
Tell me, shout it loud, where is this in the Quran?

“You said nothing in religion is ugly,”
Yet who taught these “bundled pilgrims,”
Strapped with plates at their waists,
The grace and propriety of Your faith?
Why do You laugh at their mockery of holiness?

I know that You allow the misguided to wander,
Even those who cannot find the straight path—
This is Islam: though one resides in faith,
Satan deceives in the guise of angels!

I also know Your countless commands,
Yet who understands the full weight of Your guidance?
Today, all we see is enmity blazing,
A wildfire of hatred consuming nations near and far!

Sometimes in the name of religion, elsewhere in humanity,
They serve only their own selfish ends!
New sectarians rise claiming to establish faith—
Is this what You call the final world?

Those who wish to come under the shadow of peace,
In fear, they change faith, forgetting truth!
As if seventy thousand degrees of fire were blazing,
You sit and watch humanity burn!

Even when the Quran’s message is made so clear,
They fail to understand Your intent!
Only the path walkers stray,
Tell me, is there any honor in their place?

What You have signaled, I faithfully write,
In words You have inspired!
Let those who accept it, accept; blame me not,
For Your beauty must endure, even through harsh words!

Whatever commands You give, in sleep or wakefulness,
I shall follow them, letter by letter.
For the preservation of Your beautiful religion and deeds,
Let the words of righteous struggle be recorded, O Lord, eternally.

18 Phalgun, 1427 – D.C. Road, Chattogram

126

What’s My Fault, O Lord?

O Lord,
You know the secrets of my heart,
You see the wish I silently guard;
If I swear upon Your name—
Then where lies my fault?

O Lord,
All my life I’ve heard the tales—
“The strong in spirit never fall apart.”
I’m walking that very path;
Then where lies my fault?

O Peaceful One,
I only tried to quench the flames—
Why then is my life a burning desert?
Still, I’ve not gone astray—
Then where lies my fault?

O Friend,
How long will You keep me bound in want?
Unchain me, let me breathe for a while;
Let sorrow rest, if only for a moment,
Let want depart forevermore.

O Friend,
My plea is small, so small—
Not for myself I sigh or cry;
I pray for them, always—
Let want depart forevermore.

Those who dwell in conflict’s creed,
Claim the world itself is at fault—
But I no longer seek excuses;
Tell me, O Lord—where lies my fault?
19 Phalgun, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

127

So High, So Low

Lord!
I fail to grasp the laws of this world—
Those who never remember You
Rise to the peaks untold!
And yet—
Even as I search the depths,
I cannot understand at all:
Those who chant Your name in sleep
Are kept so low, so small!

No, no—
This is not complaint,
But yes,
My heart still longs to know:
They cling to Your rope of mercy—
Why keep them low below?

My mind?
It’s mine, yet truly Yours alone;
I can hide my heart from all the world—
But not from You, O Lord.

Wealth?
It’s Yours, and Yours to give—
I claim no right, I never do;
You grant to whom You wish,
And I am never untrue.

Then tell me—
Those not as lost as I,
Why suffer worse than me?
We see their outer grace,
But inside—what misery!
And still, You keep them low below.
20 Phalgun, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

128

All by Fate

By fate’s favor, by fate’s frown,
Everything happens so!
With this belief I chase my luck,
Following wherever it goes.

Mouth agape, I wait and watch,
Eating what fate bestows;
Why bother with work or will?
Let life flow as it flows!
By fate’s favor, by fate’s frown,
Everything happens so!

Ah, I stumble, fall, and ache,
Blindfolded on this road!
Is it my fault then, truly mine,
If fate struck me with its load?

This too is fate, that too is fate—
Not my doing, no!
Can such a nation rise again
That sings fate’s endless song?
With this belief I chase my luck,
Following wherever it goes.
21 Phalgun, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

129

By the River of Bengal

Who are You that woke me
From my slumber’s peace?
A wandering soul, I lost my way—
By Bengal’s river’s edge I stay.

I slept so deep, untroubled, calm,
You stirred my thoughts to weigh and sway;
A wretch I am, born to this earth—
By Bengal’s river’s edge I stay.

Here saints and sages, through their grace,
Became the makers of divine light—
Can I too bear a torch that bright,
By Bengal’s river’s edge tonight?

What ghost has pressed upon my chest,
Weighing heavy, never at rest?
I plead and beg, yet it won’t fade,
Even when pushed, it stays instead.

Go, go away—what harm if you go?
Why torment the maiden so?
Would the bride’s veil not sweetly glow—
By Bengal’s river’s flow?
22 Phalgun, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

130

Blessed Motherland

Blessed be, O Mother dear,
For I was born beneath your care—
In your soft embrace I dwell,
In Bengal’s lap, where blessings swell.

Pure and radiant, full, complete,
Light glimmers where your rivers meet;
In pond and stream, in forest shade,
In every breath, Your grace displayed.

Ah, this land so lush, so green,
In every wind Your scent serene;
Sacred, rare, and heaven’s dream—
In Bengal’s lap, I gleam.

From Karnaphuli’s flowing grace
To where the tears of Korna trace—
I wander, yet my heart still cries,
Never full, it never dries.

In every birth, in endless turns,
No journey ends the soul that yearns;
I’ll come and go, but always stay—
In Bengal’s lap, I lay.

Trees aligned in solemn rows,
Shade that cools, and peace that grows;
Emerald soil, golden hue—
What beauty shines from beneath the blue!
Blessed Mother, blessed be,
For I was born beneath Thee.
23 Phalgun, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

131

By the Shores of the Bay of Bengal

I have seen, with waking eyes,
The tender shade of tranquil skies—
By the shores of the Bay of Bengal.
In the home where I was born,
Cradled in Bangladesh’s soil so warm,
I wish to return again reborn—
By the shores of the Bay of Bengal.

Where else do seasons change so kind?
Where nature’s rhythm rules the mind?
Where ceaseless streams in sweetness fall—
Singing softly, melody always flows.
By the shores of the Bay of Bengal.

I am a child of Bengal’s Mother,
Blessed with earth unlike another,
How fortunate my heart to call—
Her beauty I’ve seen, her splendor all;
I crave no heaven’s distant hall—
For here my soul shall blend and fall—
How blessed indeed I am!

Where rains descend with sweetest sound,
Where rivers laugh and birds abound,
Where heaven itself may be found—
By the shores of the Bay of Bengal.
24 Phalgun, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

132

Return Me to Bengal Again

Ah, how lovely, how divine—
The fields of Bengal in golden shine!
I long to return again and again,
To this land that soothes my pain.

Bengali—my tongue, my mother’s song,
Bengal—my land, to whom I belong;
Wherever I go, my eyes still yearn,
For the face of Bengal to return.
Evening calls of herons cry,
Bamboo swings beneath the sky—
Ah, how my heart comes home again,
To Bengal’s warmth and gentle rain.

Drummers by rivers, potters by clay,
Craft and call in wondrous array;
Even after a hundred births to see,
My heart won’t tire of Bengal’s beauty.

Forests, hills, and meadows vast,
Rivers winding slow and fast;
To be born here—what grace untold,
To witness such splendor bright and bold!
Boatmen crossing, markets cry,
Under banyan trees where shades lie—
Ah, how I wish again and again,
To return, reborn, in Bengal’s rain.
26 Phalgun, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

133

Forgive Me, Motherland

O Mother, my birth was in your arms,
I’ve lived and thrived in all your charms;
Yet, for all that I received from you—
My duties, perhaps, I did not do.
Forgive me, Mother, your child.

Your soil has risen in sacred fame,
Saints and sages blessed your name;
Through the ages they’ve come and gone—
How fortunate you’ve been, all along!
Forgive me, Mother, your child.

Came the Hindus, came the Muslims,
Came the Buddhists, Christians within—
All together in songs of union,
Praising you with deep communion—
How blessed you’ve been through every hue,
Forgive me, Mother, your child.

Your noble sons, thoughtful, pure,
Fortune-blessed, yet some unsure—
Wished to give, but couldn’t fulfill,
Despite their effort, heart and will;
Forgive me, Mother, your child.

Not all are born beneath wide fate,
Some must go, though hearts still wait;
Indebted to the breast once fed,
We leave this world with grief unsaid—
Forgive me, Mother, your child.

Still, as much as I can, I’ll try,
To lift your honor, raise it high;
The homeland’s growth—our duty’s call,
Our rise is tied to yours, after all;
Though we must leave, though hearts will break—
Forgive me, Mother, your child.
28 Phalgun, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

134

I Wish to Return, O Lord

Ah, Lord, how deeply I desire
To return once more to earthly fire;
Though I know it cannot be—
This longing still awakens me.

Seeing the ways of men below,
Their deeds and follies, all I know;
It stirs a wish I can’t restrain—
To live, to learn, to try again.

Forget the strangers and their guise—
They only trade deceit for lies.
Ah Lord, how strong this yearning grows,
To walk the earth where sorrow flows.

Why are my kin so strange, untrue?
I long to learn, to understand too;
But what I’ve learned, at life’s last end,
Could not be told, could not be penned.
Still, I leave this word behind—

Remember always, those of your kind;
The wounds your own shall make in you—
Will haunt beyond what death can do.
Ah Lord, how deeply I desire
To return once more to earthly fire.
29 Phalgun, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

135

Sing Their Songs, O Heart

Sing, O heart, the songs of those
Whose lives are not like mine—
Who’ve drowned in tears their lifetime’s glow,
And still kept faith divine.

Preach, O soul, their noble grace,
Who bore each wound with patient face;
Silent as fathers walk alone—
Sing their songs, O heart, sing on.

The greater the heart, the higher the soul,
The small in mind forever fall;
Honor grows in those who bend—
So sing their praise, till journey’s end.

O heart, sing not for the proud,
Who steal in secret, veiled and loud;
Who honor none beyond their kin,
Whose love for self is their only sin.
Wealth they hoard as child divine,

Yet scorn the worth of all but thine;
Better far to stay apart,
Than near the greedy heart to heart.
So sing not their songs, O heart.

Friendship with the selfish kind—
Each step taken makes you blind;
Yet some will give, their hearts so pure—
Sing their songs forevermore.
1 Chaitra, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

136

Grant the Earthly Grace to Those Who Serve the World

Let the sky be touched by the one
Who can touch a human heart;
Grant the glory of earth to him
Who brings goodness to the world’s part.

You can give — I know You can —
Make a beggar the king of lands.
Briefly I say — I’m doing fine —
My thanks to You will never decline.
Grant the glory of earth to him
Who brings goodness to the world’s part.

If You give the soul — give to that one
Who thinks of others before his own;
If You grant honor — let it belong
To hearts that know another’s tone.

Those who fail to honor man
So often earn man’s honor again!
I can say aloud, without disguise —
Even Karun, the rich, was humbled in eyes.
Grant the glory of earth to him
Who brings goodness to the world’s part.

3 Chaitra, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

137

O Master Craftsman, the Supreme Artist

Give the singer a truer song,
Make the voiceless sing along,
Teach the poet’s art to none,
Yet show Thy craft in everyone —
Truly, Lord, You are the Great Artisan!

In the ocean of wisdom deep,
You mark the wise as fools in sleep;
And those of learning vast and grand
You show their folly in a strand —
Truly, Lord, You are the Great Artisan!

You make the ignorant wise in deed,
And turn the learned to humble need;
You lift the low, You shame the proud,
You show the truth to all aloud —
None can grasp Thy wondrous plan!

The beggar You crown in regal hue,
The king You strip of throne and view;
The arrogant You drown below,
To teach the world Thy signs to know —
Truly, Lord, You are the Great Artisan!

8 Chaitra, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

138

O Supreme Composer of Melody

Let the singers sing still more,
O Glorious Maker of Score!
My heart’s veena hums Thy name,
Keep its strings alive with flame.

In every song I find Thee near,
In every tune Thy love I hear,
Though not a saint, not wise nor pure —
I’m lost in music’s endless lure,
O Supreme Composer of Melody!

I know not what my words convey,
I sing because You teach the way.
You make me sing in loving trance —
Till death, let this be my chance.

Perhaps You hid in this devotion deep,
Else why this passion’s boundless keep?
You are the player, listener, tone —
You strike the chord that sounds alone,
O Supreme Composer of Melody!

12 Chaitra, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

139

The Peace in the Name of Allah

The more I chant “Allah, Allah,”
The more my heart feels peace;
In this holy utterance sweet and clear
My soul finds endless release.

Like the cuckoo’s voice so pure,
Perhaps it chants that Name for sure,
The buds that bloom in garden air
Unfold in Allah’s love and care.
This holy chant of sacred tone
Brings to heart a tranquil zone.

Allah-hu Allah, La-ilaha illallah, Illallah, Illallah!
The more I chant, the more I crave —
To call that Name my soul does brave.
In songs of zikr, my spirit flies,
A madman beneath the Merciful skies.
Forever I’ll stay, in that shade divine,
Where Rahman’s mercy and love entwine.

15 Chaitra, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

140

Homage, Homage — All Beauty of the Divine

Homage, homage — to every grace
The Creator’s beauty brings to face.

Homage, homage — to parents dear,
The foremost ones our hearts revere.

Homage, homage — to all that’s best,
Among creation, purest, blessed.

Homage, homage — to those who mock
The Lord — still bound within His flock!
Homage, homage — to every grace
The Creator’s beauty brings to face.

Homage, homage — to those who smile
Through pain and hardship all the while.

Homage, homage — to hearts that stay
Steadfast in grief and duty’s way.

Homage, homage — to hands that strive,
To souls that keep creation alive.

Homage, homage — to all that’s praised,
To beauty in which the Law is raised.
Homage, homage — to every grace
The Creator’s beauty brings to face.

18 Chaitra, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

141

Forgive Me, O Merciful Lord

Every step I took was full of wrong,
Yet if You forgive — even the lowest belongs.
O Lord, forgive me, I plead with Thee,
O Lord, forgive me, forgive me!

They say You are the Most Kind One,
No mercy greater beneath the sun;
You forgive even the gravest sin—
O Lord, forgive me once again,
O Lord, forgive me, forgive me!

What sacred words bring pardon’s grace?
You make me speak them in this place.
Where is another Merciful like You?
None so loving, none so true!

However sinful Your servant be,
Your mercy outweighs all misery.
None sins with full intent of mind—
O Lord, forgive this soul confined,
O Lord, forgive me, forgive me!

19 Chaitra, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

142

O Judge Supreme, When Justice Comes

The day Your Court begins its call,
I’ll stand accused before You, all.
What judgment will You render then,
My righteous Lord, for mortal men?

In merit’s book, what shall I find?
Nothing but emptiness, signed.
If I stand with tearful eyes,
What judgment then from Heaven’s skies?

I cannot bear a bit of sun,
How shall I face twelve blazing ones?
So vast Your heart, so deep, so kind—
Can You such punishment assign?

I cannot think You’ll be so stern,
Let sinners drown but faithful turn.
My heart repeats in trembling plea—
You’re mercy’s sea, O Judge of me!

21 Chaitra, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

143

The Call to Prayer

How sweet, how tender the muezzin’s cry,
Five times it pierces earth and sky;
Each adhan calls life to decay,
Yet the heedless soul turns away.

If in each call your heart won’t shake,
Your faith will fade for Satan’s sake;
In prayer alone the spirit stands,
A fortress built by holy hands.

To rush to mosque is good indeed,
Yet faith’s the truth of word and deed;
Without surrender, pure and whole,
You’re mosque-bound, not a prayerful soul.

Counting beads from hand to hand,
Missed one prayer — now understand!
On Judgment Day how will you say?
Such heedlessness — a sign of clay.

22 Chaitra, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

144

O Lord, Why Still Keep Me Here?

Lord,
Why anymore?
Take back now
This weary chore.

You’ve sent me down
Through ages gone,
A soul that wanders,
Work undone.

Silently I passed through tears,
The world forgot me through the years—
Lord,
Why anymore?

Perhaps
This is Your way,
Though vain it feels today;
Man destroys what man can’t stay.

Maybe my works
Are by You designed,
Yet worthless to
Mankind’s blind.

This is the law we all ignore—
We humans seldom care for more.
Lord,
Why anymore?

24 Chaitra, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

145

My Heart Weeps at Every Moment

Every moment my heart weeps alone,
How shall I leave this home I’ve known?
Among my dear ones, laugh and play,
In love’s embrace I spent my day—
How shall I dwell where none are near,
A lonely soul without them here?

The laughter of the loved so dear,
I sit beside — a smile appears;
Then in a breath, they turn away,
So sweet this love, yet brief its stay.
In joy’s own home I found my part—
Why must You steal it from my heart?

Every moment my heart weeps alone,
How shall I leave this home I’ve known?

25 Chaitra, 1427 — DC Road, Chattogram

146

No Expectation of Reward

No reward I seek from Thee,
Nothing I hold of worth to me.
Yet still I hope for Thy great grace,
Though merit none my soul can trace.

Perhaps no place awaits me there,
Yet still my heart shall hold a prayer.
Somehow, someday, Thou wilt forgive—
Else why “Rahman” should Thou live?

From where I came, I take no gain,
What pilgrim boasts with worldly chain?
The weight I bear may prove, alas,
A beam of Hell I’ll drag and pass.

No wish for “tea” in Vegas’ life,
Give me peace in Chatteshwari’s quiet hive.
Give or not—my grief is none,
Thy joy and mine are one.
No reward I seek from Thee—
Nothing I hold of worth to me.

27 Chaitra, 1427 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

147

Master, I Leave All to Thee

Master,
All that was mine I leave behind,
Nothing I take, to none confined.
Creator,
Empty-handed I came from Thee,
Empty I return—let it be.

Palaces I leave in royal glow,
Fields I tilled with faith below.
If someone gains, so let it stand,
If not—still Thy command.

Master,
All that was mine I leave behind,
Nothing I take, to none confined.

In gain,
I feel the urge to sigh—
This world’s crown I never did buy.
In give,
If self I couldn’t bestow,
Then what did giving show?

“My, my,” I hoarded long,
Peace fled with mortal song.
Tomorrow—
No soul shall carry my load,
No hand shall help on Judgement’s road.

Master,
All that was mine I leave behind,
Nothing I take, to none confined.

28 Chaitra, 1427 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

148

My Song

Will my song find a place in your heart?
I sang as best as I could impart.
In rhythm lost, in tunes astray,
Still, my voice sought Thee today.

Notes untuned, my lines unfit,
Yet Thy name carried every bit.
The refrain wandered, pulse unsound—
My song went round and round.

Did I know the meaning clear?
No, I sang because You were near.
Perhaps this singing is my prayer—
Did I know the meaning clear?

My voice is mine, the tune is Thine,
Together our souls entwine.
In love’s harmony we stand—
My song, in Thine command.

29 Chaitra, 1427 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

149. Ya…

Ya Ilahi, Ya Ilahi,
Mercy, Lord, I’m calling Thee.
Ya Nafsi, Ya Nafsi,
Counting beads on trembling knee.

No soul within my frame remains,
No breath to calm my restless veins.
What fate awaits? What shall I see?
I shake in fear—I call to Thee.

So brief, so small, this life of mine,
Lost in mirage, in worldly shine.
O whispering guide, deceiving seer,
You fled, you vanished, leaving fear.

Ah me, my throat runs dry,
What path is left, what hope, what sky?
Now what deed, O Lord, by Thee?
I die of dread—I call to Thee.
Counting beads on trembling knee.

30 Chaitra, 1427 — D.C. Road, Chattogram

My tuneless words, in your melodious voice,
See how they enchant the world.
I may vanish into the hush of shadows,
But you can shake the very foundations with your voice,
Sing it once, my friend, just once—
And see what a stir the songs can create in your voice.

🌙 “When You Sing, the Universe Listens”

My tuneless words, when they find your voice,
Turn into rivers of light and longing.
The world stands still —
enchanted by the spell of your song.

I may vanish into the hush of shadows,
But you — you could awaken stars
with nothing more than your breath.

Sing it once, my love, just once —
and let the heavens learn
what wonder is born
when your soul begins to sing.

“The Radiance of Divine Majesty” — A Collection of 149 Lyric Poems

“The Radiance of Divine Majesty” is a luminous anthology of 149 lyric poems, each reflecting the poet’s profound engagement with life, faith, and the human spirit. This collection captures the intimate dialogue between the self and the Divine, tracing the landscapes of devotion, reflection, and moral consciousness.

Across these poems, the poet explores the full spectrum of human experience: the silent struggles of the marginalized, the search for inner peace, the weight of sorrow and joy, and the eternal yearning for spiritual connection. Each poem resonates with melodic cadence, creating a continuous thread of contemplation and prayer, echoing the highs and lows of existence.

The collection also celebrates the beauty of the natural world and the enduring bond with one’s homeland, portraying rivers, fields, forests, and skies with tender reverence. It probes the tensions of worldly life, the pursuit of virtue, and the challenges of understanding true faith amidst human imperfections.

Structured in the tradition of lyrical and devotional verse, these poems are both personal and universal, inviting readers into a reflective journey of the soul. Each poem is a meditation, a song of praise, or a quiet invocation, together forming a tapestry of spiritual, emotional, and ethical insight.

“The Radiance of Divine Majesty” is not just a collection of poems; it is a voyage into the heart’s devotion, a celebration of the human spirit, and a lyrical exploration of life’s sacred and mundane rhythms. It illuminates the intersections of love, prayer, morality, and nature, offering readers a profound and moving encounter with the poet’s vision.

English (Promotional/Short Description)

The Radiance of Divine Majesty is a luminous collection of 149 lyrical poems that explore the intimate dialogue between the human soul and the Divine. Each poem blends prayer, reflection, and devotion, capturing the spectrum of human experience—joy and sorrow, longing and gratitude, struggle and transcendence.

Celebrating the beauty of nature and the sacredness of homeland, the collection invites readers to journey through rivers, forests, fields, and skies, while reflecting on faith, morality, and spiritual awakening. Every verse resonates with rhythm and melody, evoking an immersive, meditative experience.

More than a poetry anthology, The Radiance of Divine Majesty illuminates the heart, celebrates the spirit, and traces the sacred cadence of life, offering insight, inspiration, and a lyrical connection to the Divine.

English (Hook / Tagline)

"Journey through 149 luminous songs of devotion, reflection, and the human spirit—where every verse sings the soul's dialogue with the Divine."

English Options

"149 songs of devotion and reflection, where every line illuminates the soul's quest for the Divine."
"Step into a luminous journey of heart and spirit, through 149 verses singing life, faith, and longing."
"From whispers of the heart to the majesty of the Divine—149 poetic songs guiding the soul."
"A radiant tapestry of 149 songs, weaving human emotion with divine contemplation."
"149 lyrical meditations on life, love, faith, and the eternal dialogue with the Divine."

English (Final Hook)

"149 lyrical meditations, where every song illuminates the soul's journey toward the Divine."

English (Poetic Hook)

"149 songs rise like a luminous tide, each a whisper of the soul reaching for the Divine."

English (Expanded Poetic Hook)

"Within 149 songs, a radiant tide flows—each a delicate whisper of the soul, reaching, yearning, and singing toward the Divine Majesty, illuminating the heart with every note."

English (Promo Description)

"The Radiance of Divine Majesty unfolds in 149 soul-stirring songs, each a luminous reflection of devotion, contemplation, and the human journey toward the Divine. Every verse resonates with longing, every melody whispers of love, faith, and the eternal search for truth, creating a tapestry of light and reflection for readers and seekers alike."

English (Back Cover / Promo Line)

"149 luminous songs weaving devotion, love, and the eternal journey toward the Divine."

English (Poetic Back Cover Line)

"In 149 songs, the heart sings, the soul bows, and every verse lights the path to the Divine."

English (Extended Poetic Description)

"The Radiance of Divine Majesty unfolds in 149 songs, where every verse carries the whisper of the heart, the longing of the soul, and the journey of life toward light. Through trials, devotion, and reflection, each poem sings of faith, love, humility, and the silent grace of the Divine. From the rivers and fields of Bangladesh to the innermost musings of the heart, this collection illuminates the paths of spirit and emotion, inviting the reader to witness the harmony of human experience and divine presence."

Header Ads Widget

📖 The Radiance of Divine Majesty/Lyrics Book & Poems

by Azaha Sultan

1

51

Why Don’t I Ever Think

52

O Allah, Make Me Not a Beggar of Mercy

53

Bless, O Giver

54

O Lord of the World

55

How Long Shall the Earth Be Destroyed

56

Chant, O My Heart, “Allah, Allah”

57

O Allah, Let Me Sail in Your Love

58

You Made Me, O Lord

59

When the Time Comes to Cross

60

In Life’s Peril and Strife

61

62

63

64

65

66

67

68

69

70

71

72

73

74

75

76

The Supplicant

77

78

It Seems, My Time Is Over

79

Make Them Conscience-Aware, O God

Mother, Place a Pure Mark on My Brow

86

87

88

89

90

101Who Are You, O Kind-Hearted One

102Nothing Exists Beyond Your Love

103Why Does My Heart Desire You So

104I Never Desired Name or Wealth

105A Fierce Wind Blows Around Me Today

106Where Lies the Fallen Nation

107Do Not Deceive Yourself

108Dream of the Beggar and the King

109The Lost Traveler

110Hear Me, O Lord

111I Ask You, My Merciful Lord

112Kun Faya Kun

113Have You Asked Yourself, Abed

114Failures in Life

115There is No One Like My Mother

116Descend from the Palace, O Owner of Prosperity

117I No Longer Like This Life

118I Am a Wanderer

119Grateful I Am to Humanity

120O Allah, Your Love for Your Servants

🌙 “When You Sing, the Universe Listens”

Post a Comment

0 Comments

Search This Blog

Translate

AD Space

Subscribe Us

Contact Form

101
Who Are You, O Kind-Hearted One

102
Nothing Exists Beyond Your Love

103
Why Does My Heart Desire You So

104
I Never Desired Name or Wealth

105
A Fierce Wind Blows Around Me Today

106
Where Lies the Fallen Nation

107
Do Not Deceive Yourself

108
Dream of the Beggar and the King

109
The Lost Traveler

110
Hear Me, O Lord

111
I Ask You, My Merciful Lord

112
Kun Faya Kun

113
Have You Asked Yourself, Abed

114
Failures in Life

115
There is No One Like My Mother

116
Descend from the Palace, O Owner of Prosperity

117
I No Longer Like This Life

118
I Am a Wanderer

119
Grateful I Am to Humanity

120
O Allah, Your Love for Your Servants