ENTANGLED IN the meshes woven by countless gazing eyes,
he is drawn into a whirl of noise,
the man of fame.
Alas, he has lost his rank among those
who are privileged to remain unaware of the date of their birth,
whose recognition in the world is slight,
even as the leaves are that lightly swing on the branches
and drop on the dust unnoticed.
He lives in his solitary cell among the crowd
with a chain of honour ever jangling round his limbs.
Take pity and free him
in the world of cool light, green shade and sweet reticence,
in the unbounded dust,
the primeval playground of the eternal child.
When the ferry boat from the dark
brought him to the landing on the shore of fresh knowledge,
he had nothing to cover him from the light
that touched his nakedness
as it touches the sail unfurled in the air.
In the simple freedom-of that morning
flowers without fame bloomed in the grass,
and the spring hour spread its golden wings,
in an immensity of leisure.
In that holiday's solitude
his name received its infinite worth from a sweet voice
whose far-away music makes him wistful
in the languorous afternoon of March
and whose date is lettered today
in this glistening quiver of asath leaves.
He had his poet's welcome from the river Padma
and the morning star through the intervals of bamboo leaves on her bank.
The dark masses of cloud had spread before him
a purple shadow on the distant rain-dimmed forest;
his eyes had followed the track of noisy girls to the river
along the shady village lane
and enjoyed the duet of colours under the sunset sky
in the blossoming field of mustard and linseed sown together.
He gazed and said, 'I love it',
and wished that this love of his remained behind him,
even when his big endeavours had come to nothing,
and that his salutation carrying his life-long wonder
should leave a lasting memory of his touch
on the dust of his earth.

ON THE seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather-pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships get wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.

একা বসে আছি হেথায়
যাতায়াতের পথের তীরে।
যারা বিহান-বেলায় গানের খেয়া
আনল বেয়ে প্রাণের ঘাটে,
আলোছায়ার নিত্য নাটে,
সাঁঝের বেলায় ছায়ায় তারা
মিলায় ধীরে।
আজকে তারা এল আমার
স্বপ্নলোকের দুয়ার ঘিরে;
সুরহারা সব ব্যথা যত
একতারা তার খুঁজে ফিরে।
প্রহর পরে প্রহর যে যায়,
বসে বসে কেবল গনি
নীরব জপের মালার ধ্বনি
অন্ধকারের শিরে শিরে।