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Bidrohi | kazi nazrul islam | Bengali poem | Shah Kamal | Grand Finale | Serader sera 2016

Bidrohi, A bengali poem of kazi nazrul islam, is recited by Shah Kamal on Grand Finale of serader sera 2016.

Bengali poem: Bidrohi
poet: kazi nazrul islam
poetry recitation by Shah Kamal
Grand Finale
place: 10th
poetry recitation competition
sereder sere 2016
Presented by SOSAS

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Produced by SOSAS – Somonnito Sangoskritik Songsod.

Sosas is a cultural organization working in the field of Islamic Entertainment.

Poem: The Rebel (Bidrohi)

Proclaim, Hero,
proclaim: I raise my head high!
Before me bows down the Himalayan peaks!

Proclaim, Hero,
proclaim: rending through the sky,
surpassing the moon, the sun,
the planets, the stars,
piercing through the earth,
the heavens, the cosmos
and the Almighty’s throne,
have I risen�I, the eternal wonder
of the Creator of the universe.
The furious Shiva shines on my forehead
like a royal medallion of victory!
Proclaim, Hero,
proclaim: My head is ever held high!

I’m ever indomitable, arrogant and cruel,
I’m the Dance-king of the Day of the Doom,
I’m the cyclone, the destruction!
I’m the great terror, I’m the curse of the world.
I’m unstoppable,
I smash everything into pieces!
I’m unruly and lawless.
I crush under my feet
all the bonds, rules and disciplines!
I don’t obey any laws.
I sink cargo-laden boats�I’m the torpedo,
I’m the dreadful floating mine.
I’m the destructive Dhurjati,
the sudden tempest of the summer.
I’m the Rebel, the Rebel son
of the Creator of the universe!

Proclaim, Hero,
proclaim: My head is ever held high!

I’m ever uncontrollable, irrepressible.
My cup of elixir is always full.
I’m the sacrificial fire,
I’m Yamadagni, the keeper
of the sacrificial fire.
I’m the sacrifice, I’m the priest,

I’m the fire itself.
I’m creation, I’m destruction,
I’m habitation, I’m the cremation ground.
I’m the end, the end of night.
I’m the son of Indrani,
with the moon in my hand and the sun on my forehead.
In one hand I hold the bamboo flute,
in the other, a trumpet of war.
I’m Shiva’s blued-hued throat
from drinking poison from the ocean of pain.
I’m Byomkesh, the Ganges flows freely
through my matted locks.

Proclaim, Hero,
proclaim: My head is ever held high!

I’m the unbridled hair of a maiden,
the fire in her eyes.
I’m the budding romance of a girl of sixteen�
I’m the state of bliss!
I’m the madness of the recluse,
I’m the sigh of grief of a widow,
I’m the anguish of the dejected,
I’m the suffering of the homeless,
I’m the pain of the humiliated,
I’m the afflicted heart of the lovesick.
I’m the trembling passion of the first kiss,
the fleeting glance of the secret lover.
I’m the love of a restless girl,
the jingling music of her bangles!
I’m the eternal child, the eternal adolescent,
I’m the bashfulness of a village girl’s budding youth.
I’m the northern breeze, the southern breeze,
the callous eastwind.
I’m the minstrel’s song,
the music of his flute and lyre.
I’m the unquenched summer thirst,
the scorching rays of the sun.
I’m the softly flowing desert spring
and the green oasis!

In ecstatic joy, in madness,
I’ve suddenly realized myself�
all the barriers have crumbled away!
I’m the rise, I’m the fall,
I’m the consciousness in the unconscious mind.
I’m the flag of triumph at the gate
of the universe�
the triumph of humanity!

I’m Orpheus’ flute.
I calm the restless ocean
and bring lethean sleep to the fevered world
with a kiss of my melody.
I’m the flute in the hands of Shyam.
When I fly into a rage and traverse the vast sky,
the fires of Seven Hells and the hell of hells, Habia,
tremble in fear and die.
I’m the messenger of revolt
across the earth and the sky.

I’m mad, I’m mad!
I have realized myself,
all the barriers have crumbled away!!

I’m Parashuram’s merciless axe.
I’ll rid the world of all the war mongers*
and bring peace.
I’m the plough on Balaram’s shoulders.
I’ll uproot this subjugated world
in the joy of recreating it.
Weary of battles, I, the Great Rebel,
shall rest in peace only when
the anguished cry of the oppressed
shall no longer reverberate in the sky and the air,
and the tyrant’s bloody sword
will no longer rattle in battlefields.
Only then shall I, the Rebel,
rest in peace.

I’m the Rebel Bhrigu,
I’ll stamp my footprints on the chest of god
sleeping away indifferently, whimsically,
while the creation is suffering.
I’m the Rebel Bhrigu,
I’ll stamp my footprints�
I’ll tear apart the chest of the whimsical god!

I’m the eternal Rebel,
I have risen beyond this world, alone,
with my head ever held high!

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