I SHALL NOT wait and watch in the house for thy coming,
but will go forth into the open,
for the petals fall from the drooping flowers and time flies to its end.
The wind is up, the water is ruffled.
Be swift and cut the rope,
let the boat drift in the midstream, for the time flies to its end.
The night is pale, the lonely moon is playing its ferry of dreams
across the sky.
The path is unknown, but I heed it not.
My mind has the wings of freedom
and I know that I shall cross the dark.
Let me but start on my journey, for the time flies to its end.

THOU ART A glimmer of gold from the dawn on my life's shore,
a dew-drop on the first white flower of autumn.
Thou art a rainbow from the distant sky
bending o'er the dust,
a dream of the crescent moon
touched with a white cloud,
thou art a secret of paradise
revealed by chance to the earth.
Thou art my poet's vision,
appearing from the days
of my forgotten birth,
thou art the word that is never for utterance,
a freedom that comes in the form of a bondage,
for thou openest the door for me
to the beauty of a living light.

সে লড়াই ঈশ্বরের বিরুদ্ধে লড়াই
      যে যুদ্ধে ভাইকে মারে ভাই।