WITH HIS morning songs he knocks at our door bringing his greetings of sunrise.
With him we take our cattle to the fields and play our flute in the shade.
We lose him to find him again and again in the market crowd.
In the busy hour of the day we come upon him of a sudden, sitting on the wayside grass.
We march when he beats his drum,
We dance when he sings.
We stake our joys and sorrows to play his game to the end
He stands at the helm of our boat,
With him we rock on the perilous waves.
For him we light our lamp and wait when our day is done.

I HAVE PLAYED my flute along the path,
I have sung at thy gate.
I have offered my tunes before thy temple's outer screen
decorated with endless forms and colours.
Today have come to me from everywhere
the words that speak of the End.
They ask me to break the bond of the road,
to come to the farther shore of the pilgrimage
by crossing the endless refrain
of meetings and partings.

এ দিন আজি কোন্‌ ঘরে গো
          খুলে দিল দ্বার।
আজি প্রাতে সূর্য ওঠা
         সফল হল কার।
কাহার অভিষেকের তরে
সোনার ঘটে আলোক ভরে।
উষা কাহার আশিস বহি
         হল আঁধার পার।
বনে বনে ফুল ফুটেছে,
            দোলে নবীন পাতা--
কার হৃদয়ের মাঝে হল
            তাদের মালা গাঁথা।
বহুযুগের উপহারে
বরণ করি নিল কারে।
কার জীবনে প্রভাত আজি
            ঘোচায় অন্ধকার।