THE SKY SETS no snare to capture the moon,
it is her own freedom which binds her.
The light that fills the sky
seeks its limit in a dew-drop on the grass.

WHEN THE market is over and they return homewards through the dusk,
I sit at the wayside to watch thee plying thy boat,
Crossing the dark water with the sunset gleam upon thy sail;
I see thy silent figure standing at the helm and suddenly catch thy eyes gazing upon me;
I leave my song; and cry to thee to take me across.

রেণু কোথায় লুকিয়ে থাকে
        ফুলের মধ্যখানে,
বাতাসেতে গন্ধ তাহার
        ছড়ায় সুদূর-পানে।