DARK CLOUDS have blotted all lights from above; and we caged
birds cry and ask you: 'My friend, is it the death moment
of creation? Has God withdrawn His blessings from the sky?'
Times were when the sudden breath of April would waft the distant
fragrance of hope into our hearts, and the morning light
would gild the iron bars of our prison with its golden
spell and would bring the gladness of the open world into our cage.
But, see, it is all dark in the hills yonder, and not a thinnest
rift has been made by the scimitar of light cutting through the massive gloom.
Our chains today sit heavy on our feet, and not a flush of glow
is left in the sky with which to build an illusion of joy.
But let not our fear and sorrow pain you, my friend!
Come not to sit at the door of our cage to cry with us.
Your wings are unfettered.
Far away from us you soar beyond all clouds.
And from there send us the message in song:
'The light is shining for ever. The lamp of the sun is not out.'

SUPPOSING I became a champa flower, just for fun, and grew on a branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you know me, mother?
You would call, 'Baby, where are you?' and I should laugh to myself and keep quite quiet.
I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work.
When after your bath, with wet hair spread on your shoulders, you walked through the shadow of the champa tree to the little court where you say your prayers, you would notice the scent of the flower, but not know that it came from me.
When after the midday meal you sat at the window reading Ramayana, and the tree's shadow fell over your hair and your lap, I should fling my wee little shadow on to the page of your book, just where you were reading.
But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your little child?
When in the evening you went to the cowshed with the lighted lamp in your hand, I should suddenly drop on to the earth again and be your own baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story.
'Where have you been, you naughty child? '
'I won't tell you, mother. ' That's what you and I would say then.

     কলছন্দে পূর্ণ তার প্রাণ--
              নিত্য বহমান
          ভাষার কল্লোলে
              জাগাইয়া তোলে
                   চারি ধারে
          প্রত্যহের জড়তারে;
                   সংগীতে তরঙ্গ তুলি
              হাসিতে ফেনিল তার ছোটো দিনগুলি।
     আঁখি তার কথা কয়, বাহুভঙ্গি কত কথা বলে,
              চরণ যখন চলে
              কথা কয়ে যায়--
     যে কথাটি অরণ্যের পাতায় পাতায়;
     যে কথাটি ঢেউ তোলে
আশ্বিনে ধানের খেতে, প্রান্ত হতে প্রান্তে যায় চলে;
            যে কথাটি নিশীথতিমিরে,
     তারায় তারায় কাঁপে অধীর মির্মিরে;
            যে কথাটি মহুয়ার বনে
              মধুপগুঞ্জনে
            সারাবেলা উঠিছে চঞ্চলি--
               নাম কি কাকলী।