শৈশবে ছাদের কোণে গোপনে ছুটিত মায়ারথ--
যেথা মরীচিকাপুরী যেথা ছিল অদেখা পর্বত।
             হারায়েছি সহজ সে পথ।
আজিকে তুলির মুখে আনি
ছুটি-লোকে অভিনব ভূগোল-সৃষ্টির মন্ত্রখানি।

CHILD, HOW happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
Perhaps you glance at me and think, 'What a stupid game to spoil
your morning with!'
Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud pies.
I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.
With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my strength over things I never can obtain.
In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am playing a game.

IN THE EVENING my little daughter heard a call from her companions below the window.
        She timidly went down the dark stairs holding a lamp in her hand, shielding it behind her veil.
I was sitting on my terrace in the star-lit night of March, when at a sudden cry I ran to see.
        Her lamp had gone out in the dark spiral staircase. I asked, 'Child, why did you cry?'
        From below she answered in distress, 'Father, I have lost myself!'