Sunday, March 29, 2020

We are part of Creation


ময়ূরকন্ঠী রাতের নীলে
আকাশে তারাদের ঐ মিছিলে
তুমি আমি আজ চল চলে যাই
শুধু দু'জনে মিলে । 
হয়তো পাবোনা পথের ঠিকানা
তবু যাব আজ ছাড়িয়ে সীমানা
সাথী যদি হও পাশে থেকে মোর
করিনা ভয় নিখিলের ।
আকাশ যদি ঢাকে ঘনঘটায়
তারারা মেঘে মেঘে হারিয়ে যায়,
যা আছে থাক্ না করিনা ভাবনা
আঁধারে কুয়াশায় হারিয়ে যাব না
মনের আলোয় চিনে নেব পথ
তুমি ভরসা দিলে ।।

মানবেন্দ্র মুখোপাধ্যায়ের এ গান শুনলেই আমার আকাশের উদারতার কথা(Beauty of the Sky)মনে আসে।
Leave worries aside and you will be surprised by the beauty of the sky and the color of flowers, of the freshness of the breeze and the generosity of the sun. You will feel you are part of creation, and life will start to make sense.
The greatest wealth is to appreciate what we have and what we are.
জীন্দেগী এক নাটক হ্যায়, হাম নাটক পার কাম কারতি হ্যায়-আশা ভোশলে
Every passing moment is like a passing act in a play.
Each of us are the actors playing out parts very well.
An actor is never focused on another actors part, continually criticizing it.
He just gets on with his own part, playing it as best he can.
This Drama of Life is eternal, predestined and accurate.
Whatever anybody else says and does is their role, not mine.
My task is to play my part right. Right thoughts restore rightness to the whole play.
Practice detaching yourself from your role and experiencing the truth, behind the role and you will find yourself loving every instant of your role and the Drama, too.
7 Ages of Man
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
 At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;

And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow.
 Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank;
 and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
 Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.


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