Poems and Stories of the Xaverians in Bangladesh

Xaverians in Bangladesh

Poems and Stories

| |

The Great One

Hear,
O inhabitants of the universe,
hear, O children of eternity,
all of you, divine citizens
of the eternal realm:
I knew the Great One,
the light at the edge of the dark.
By knowing God,
by looking to God,
you can pass beyond death;
there is no other way!

Robindronath Tagore Noibeddo

From Where?

Asks the child to his mother:
from where did I come from?
Where did you find me?
The mother listens carefully, and smiles,
hugs gently her child, and whispers…
You were a wish of my heart
You are all of my love.
Hope of life,
when my youth flourished in my heart
You were its fragrance
tenderly bonded to me.

You came from the world of dreams
with a joyful name,
new splendor of my life.
You became your mom’s treasure
and finally, sweetly,
You came to this world… smiling.

R. Tagore

Cosmoni and Asmoni

Cosmoni:
the sun burns the road
like a wild fire. But Cosmoni,
white dressed, with pink feet,
lives in an enchanted place.
As she walks in the evening
all the stars twinkle;
when she laughs, the flowers smile
and all the birds sing while she dances.
Tell her, please, to play sometimes,
with little Asmoni.

Asmoni:
in a small hut,
more a place for birds, than a home,
she lives in poverty.
She waits for some drop of morning mist
and there is no food to feed her hunger.
Poverty has extinguished
the light of her smile.
Malaria has taken over her body;
she trembles with high fevers
And there is no money for medicines.
And sweet songs, and jokes, and dances
Asmoni does not know.

Cosmoni and Asmoni: two different worlds .
But if you could help one girl,
who would you help?

Jasimuddin

Nazrul-Islam

I Remember You

On the high desert mountains
at the rising of sun and moon
when the sweet melody of birds reaches my ears
or the lament of wild beasts sounds,
like a last breath
they pierce my heart… and I remember,
I remember You:
for everything speaks of Your love.

When flowers bloom in the gardens
and the rose smiles on its stem,
when the thunder of a running river
reaches my ears.
I find you in the works you have created
I see your hand… and I remember,
I remember You:
for everything speaks of Your Love.

Matta Glorya Khail

One Evening in Prison

The evening stars make room
to the calm chilly night.
A soft breeze whispers
words of love, with brief candor.
In the prison’s square,
homeless trees, with heads subdued,
weave in the night shadows of images.
and on the roof, the hand of the moon
touches gently its shine.

A ghosts whispers to me:
how sweet is life
in this trembling evening hour.
Live… Hope.
The tyrants who preach hatred
might win today, but not tomorrow,
they have extinguished
the lights of tender gatherings of love,
but they will never extinguish
the brightness of the moon!

Faiz Ahmad Faiz

Rise Up, O Sun

Since I chose the poor
and those who suffer
carrying the heavy burdens
of the strong and the powerful;
those who veil their faces
chocking their cries in the darkness
I thank You, o Lord!
You know every anxious concern
that beats in the dark charm of your heights;
and your great silence gathers all the insults
Sent against them.
You see: the future is theirs .
Rise up, O Sun,
upon hearts beaten and oppressed,
for they will flourish like morning flowers.

R. Tagore

Story: Sharing in Suffering

When a Muslim mother is coming to terms with her baby’s death under a “tulsi” plant, then a Hindu mother lights her lamp.

And when a Hindu bride is in distress by the side of her head husband’s pyre and adds her “sonkho” and “sindur” to the cremation then the grief of her Muslim friend is no less than if she were one of her own relatives.

Both the grief that lies in the tomb and the pain that burns on the pyre beat at the heart of Muslim and Hindu alike.

How did they come by this? I can tell you that they got their inspiration neither by reading the Koran nor by meditation on the Puranahs.

But over their heads hangs the same marvel of the endlessly wide open blue sky and the same shady forest’s breeze cools their brow. Their land slopes the same way and the rain water gurgles off in the same direction.

The moonbeams which gleam through the cracks in the Muslim cabin cast a playful light through the hedge in the Hindu courtyard. The same sorrows are shared by all and waves of joy ripple from cabin to cabin.

(From Sugion the Gypsy - Josim Uddin, known as "the village poet" frequently uses his poems to praise the sense of family to be found in villages where Hindus and Muslims live side by side. After working together, they cheerfully accept one another’s feast days and even share their sufferings.)

Service, mission, work, news, and presence of the Xaverian Missionaries in Bangladesh