IT is TIME for me to go, mother; I am going. When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn you stretch out your arms for your baby in the bed,
I shall say, 'Baby is not there!'-mother, I am going.
I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you; and I shall be ripples in the water when you bathe, and kiss you and kiss you again.
In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves you will hear my whisper in your bed, and my laughter will flash with the lightning through the open window into your room.
If you lie awake, thinking of your baby till late into the night, I shall sing to you from the stars, 'Sleep, mother, sleep.'
On the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed, and lie upon your bosom while you sleep.
I shall become a dream, and through the little opening of your eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep; and when you wake up and look round startled, like a twinkling firefly I shall flit out into the darkness.
When, on the great festival of puja, the neighbours' children come and play about the house, I shall melt into the music of the flute and throb in your heart all day.
Dear auntie will come with puja-presents and will ask, 'Where is our baby, sister?' Mother, you will tell her softly, 'He is in the pupils of my eyes, he is in my body and in my soul.'

WHEN THE warriors came out first from their master's hall, where had they hid their power? Where were their armour and their arms?
They looked poor and helpless, and the arrows were showered upon them on the day they came out from their master's hall.
When the warriors marched back again to their master's hall where
did they hide their power?
They had dropped the sword and dropped the bow and the arrow; peace was on their foreheads, and they had left the fruits of their life behind them on the day they marched back again to their master's hall.

THE DAY CAME for the image from the temple to be drawn round the holy town in its chariot.
        The Queen said to the King, 'Let us go and attend the festival.'
        Only one man out of the whole household did not join in the pilgrimage. His work was to collect stalks of spear-grass to make brooms for the King's house.
        The chief of the servants said in pity to him, 'You may come with us.'
He bowed his head, saying, 'It cannot be.'
The man dwelt by the road along which the King's followers had to pass.
        And when the Minister's elephant reached this spot, he called to him and said, 'Come with us and see the God ride in his chariot!'
        I dare not seek God after the King's fashion,' said the man.
        'How should you ever have such luck again as to see the God in his chariot?' asked the Minister.
        'When God himself comes to my door,' answered the man.
        The Minister laughed loud and said, 'Fool! "When God comes to your door!" yet a King must travel to see him!'
'Who except God visits the poor?' said the man.