THE WORLD today is wild with the delirium of hatred,
the conflicts are cruel and unceasing in anguish,
crooked are its paths, tangled its bonds of greed.
All creatures are crying for a new birth of thine,
O Thou of boundless life,
save them, rouse thine eternal voice of hope,
Let Love's lotus with its inexhaustible treasure of honey
open its petals in thy light.
O Serene, O Free,
in thine immeasurable mercy and goodness
wipe away all dark stains from the heart of this earth.
Thou giver of immortal gifts
give us the power of renunciation
and claim from us our pride.
In the splendour of a new sunrise of wisdom
let the blind gain their sight
and let life come to the souls that are dead.
O Serene, O Free,
in thine immeasurable mercy and goodness
wipe away all dark stains from the heart of this earth.
Man's heart is anguished with the fever of unrest,
with the poison of self-seeking,
with a thirst that knows no end.
Countries far and wide flaunt on their foreheads
the blood-red mark of hatred.
Touch them with thy right hand,
make them one in spirit,
bring harmony into their life,
bring rhythm of beauty.
O Serene, O Free,
in thine immeasurable mercy and goodness
wipe away all dark stains from the heart of this earth.

SUPPOSING I became a champa flower, just for fun, and grew on a branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you know me, mother?
You would call, 'Baby, where are you?' and I should laugh to myself and keep quite quiet.
I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work.
When after your bath, with wet hair spread on your shoulders, you walked through the shadow of the champa tree to the little court where you say your prayers, you would notice the scent of the flower, but not know that it came from me.
When after the midday meal you sat at the window reading Ramayana, and the tree's shadow fell over your hair and your lap, I should fling my wee little shadow on to the page of your book, just where you were reading.
But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your little child?
When in the evening you went to the cowshed with the lighted lamp in your hand, I should suddenly drop on to the earth again and be your own baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story.
'Where have you been, you naughty child? '
'I won't tell you, mother. ' That's what you and I would say then.

ওগো মা,
           রাজার দুলাল গেল চলি মোর
                   ঘরের সমুখপথে,
           প্রভাতের আলো ঝলিল তাহার
                   স্বর্ণশিখর রথে।
           ঘোমটা খসায়ে বাতায়নে থেকে
           নিমেষের লাগি নিয়েছি মা দেখে,
           ছিঁড়ি মণিহার ফেলেছি তাহার
                  পথের ধুলার 'পরে।
        মা গো,      কী হল তোমার, অবাক নয়নে
                         চাহিস কিসের তরে!
        মোর      হার-ছেঁড়া মণি নেয় নি কুড়ায়ে,
                   রথের চাকায় গেছে সে গুঁড়ায়ে
                   চাকার চিহ্ন ঘরের সমুখে
                   পড়ে আছে শুধু আঁকা।
        আমি     কী দিলেম কারে জানে না সে কেউ--
                         ধুলায় রহিল ঢাকা।
        তবু           রাজার দুলাল গেল চলি মোর
                         ঘরের সমুখপথে--
        মোর      বক্ষের মণি না ফেলিয়া দিয়া
                         রহিব বলো কী মতে।