Modhurom 
(I couldn't translate this title. Any suggestion?)

… You have invited me to this literary conference to listen to my discourse on literature, not mystic thoughts. But you are somewhat late – I have forgotten the vernacular in which I could speak not too long ago. The sweetness – the honey (modhu)-like taste – I have found in Mysticism or the mystique world has rendered my words merely into "modhurom, modhurom, modhurom". The style-frame-words to express this Modhurom is now under the control of the wish of the ever-Sweet (chiro-modhur).

Now offering all my endeavor and struggle, wish and desire, life and death at His feet, I am free from the burden of carrying the load of my "self". Now I observe as if the great tears of that Ultimate Beauty is rolling down the wall of boundless sky; the vast world is unable to reach that Ultimate Beauty; the whole universe, stretched to the farthest reaches, is rushing wildly to get its share of blessing and grace from that Ultimate Beauty.

That’s why I feel that this ever-Delightful, ever-Loving, Ultimate Beauty is my existence – my source of power and strength. . . . This love is my existence. May be it was my frustration with not finding this love is what was pushing me and my sensitive soul toward the path of anger and destruction. By finding this ever-Present love-power, I have found my eternal presence, my "eternal existence".

I said all these because literary work was not a luxury for me. It was as if I have been searching for my power and existence from the moment of my birth. When I was a boy, often glancing at the sky I would feel like crying – as if I won’t be able to breathe any more. When asked about my tears and sadness, I would respond: "That sky is like a basket, and in it I am like a baby-bird. I don’t want to be confined in that basket – I won’t be able to breathe then." That is why I turned away from the gate of "university" and spread my hands before the "universe." I could never endear myself to any bondage. No earthly love and affection succeeded in holding me to its bosom. I never could explain that my unquenchable thirst was for the Ultimate Beauty. Due to this failure, I have roamed from road to road like in a foolish craze. In the unending array of the white lotus on the canvas of the vast space, I saw a most beautiful face – the face which always seemed to have kept me away from ugliness (ashundor), constantly drawing me aloft. Today, I have found that face; after seeing it I have now the realization for the first time how honey rolls down the boundless sky – I have drank that honey. By submitting to my ever-so-sweet (modhumoy) existence and love-power, I now live – I have found my eternal life.

In the path of that search the tears I shed, the songs I sang, the music I composed, the poetry I wrote , if it was poetry of any worth, then that merely emanated from the beautiful face – all praises belong to Him. . . .

[Excerpted from an address delivered in 1941 toward the end of his active literary life. Nazrul Rochonaboli, Vol. 4, 1996, pp. 123-125.]