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Quote by Abhijit Naskar

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Her Insan Ailem: Everyone is Family, Everywhere is Home

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Abhijit Naskar

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“O my Beloved! this was but the prelude of graces yet greater which Thou didst desire to heap upon me. Let me remind Thee of them to-day, and forgive my folly if I venture to tell Thee once more of my hopes, and my heart's well nigh infinite longings—forgive me and grant my desire, that it may be well with my soul. To be Thy Spouse, O my Jesus, to be a daughter of Carmel, and by my union with Thee to be the mother of souls, should not all this content me? And yet other vocations make themselves felt—I feel called to the Priesthood and to the Apostolate—I would be a Martyr, a Doctor of the Church. I should like to accomplish the most heroic deeds—the spirit of the Crusader burns within me, and I long to die on the field of battle in defence of Holy Church. The vocation of a Priest! With what love, my Jesus, would I bear Thee in my hand, when my words brought Thee down from Heaven! With what love would I give Thee to souls! And yet, while longing to be a Priest, I admire and envy the humility of St. Francis of Assisi, and am drawn to imitate him by refusing the sublime dignity of the Priesthood. How reconcile these opposite tendencies? Like the Prophets and Doctors, I would be a light unto souls, I would travel to every land to preach Thy name, O my Beloved, and raise on heathen soil the glorious standard of Thy Cross. One mission alone would not satisfy my longings. I would spread the Gospel to the ends of the earth, even to the most distant isles. I would be a Missionary, not for a few years only, but, were it possible, from the beginning of the world till the consummation of time. Above all, I thirst for the Martyr's crown. It was the desire of my earliest days, and the desire has deepened with the years passed in the Carmel's narrow cell. But this too is folly, since I do not sigh for one torment; I need them all to slake my thirst. Like Thee, O Adorable Spouse, I would be scourged, I would be crucified! I would be flayed like St. Bartholomew, plunged into boiling oil like St. John, or, like St. Ignatius of Antioch, ground by the teeth of wild beasts into a bread worthy of God. With St. Agnes and St. Cecilia I would offer my neck to the sword of the executioner, and like Joan of Arc I would murmur the name of Jesus at the stake. ...Open, O Jesus, the Book of Life, in which are written the deeds of Thy Saints: all the deeds told in that book I long to have accomplished for Thee.”

“Gods by The Hundreds (The Sonnet) Some people fear christ, Some claim to hear christ. I work restless day and night, To raise the living christs. Some people fear god, Some claim to be prophets. I work without sleep and rest, To raise gods by the hundreds. One week of my life produces enough electricity, To power a 100 years of humanitarian endeavor. One life laid down to lift up the society, Triggers a wildfire of sacrificial fervor. I am but an instrument in the making of legends. I am but a matchstick to light up the sapiens.”

“Martyr for Humanity (The Sonnet) I am not a writer, I am an anomaly, For writers run empty after a few works. I lost count of mine a long time ago, Yet I keep imploding with no sign of cork. My brain keeps making appointments, That my body can't keep without crashing. I am not finished with one work, And lo, another one starts pouring! Someone, please calm my brain! The torture grows excruciating by the minute! Any day now hopefully an artery will blow, Then I shall finally have my eternal rest. Once I am gone, don't go making a cult out of me. I shall be alive, so long as there is one human standing ready to be martyred for humanity.”