কবি-ভ্রাতা শ্রীদেবেন্দ্রনাথ সেন
মহাশয়ের করকমলে
তদীয় ভক্তের এই
প্রীতি-উপহার
সাদরে সমর্পিত
হইল

ধূপ আপনারে মিলাইতে চাহে গন্ধে,
      গন্ধ সে চাহে ধূপেরে রহিতে জুড়ে।
সুর আপনারে ধরা দিতে চাহে ছন্দে,
      ছন্দ ফিরিয়া ছুটে যেতে চায় সুরে।
ভাব পেতে চায় রূপের মাঝারে অঙ্গ,
      রূপ পেতে চায় ভাবের মাঝারে ছাড়া।
অসীম সে চাহে সীমার নিবিড় সঙ্গ,
      সীমা চায় হতে অসীমের মাঝে হারা।
প্রলয়ে সৃজনে না জানি এ কার যুক্তি,
      ভাব হতে রূপে অবিরাম যাওয়া-আসা,
বন্ধ ফিরিছে খুঁজিয়া আপন মুক্তি,
      মুক্তি মাগিছে বাঁধনের মাঝে বাসা।

THIS LONGING TO meet in the play of love, my Lover, is not only mine but yours.
        Your lips can smile, your flute make music, only through delight in my love; therefore you are importunate even as 1.
I SIT HERE on the road; do not ask me to walk further.
        If your love can be complete without mine let me turn back from seeking you.
        I refuse to beg a sight of you if you do not feel my need.
        I am blind with market dust and mid-day glare, and so wait, in hopes that your heart, my heart's lover, will send you to find me.
I AM POURED forth in living notes of joy and sorrow by your breath.
        Mornings and evenings in summer and in rains, I am fashioned to music.
        Should I be wholly spent in some flight of song, I shall not grieve, the tune is so dear to me.
MY HEART is a flute he has played on. If ever it fall into other hands let him fling it away.
IN LOVE THE aim is neither pain nor pleasure but love only.
        While free love binds, division destroys it, for love is what unites.
        Love is lit from love as fire from fire, but whence came the first flame?
        In your being it leaps under the rod of pain.
        Then, when the hidden fire flames forth, the in and the out are one and all barriers fall in ashes.
        Let the pain glow fiercely, burst from the heart and beat back darkness, need you be afraid?
        The poet says, 'Who can buy love without paying its price? When you fail to give yourself you make the whole world miserly.'
EVES SEE ONLY dust and earth, but feel with the heart, and know pure joy.
        The delights blossom on all sides in every form, but where is your heart's thread to make a wreath of them?
        My master's flute sounds through all things, drawing me out of my lodgings wherever they may be, and while I listen I know that every step I take is in my master's house.
        For he is the sea, he is the river that leads to the sea, and he is the landing-place.
STRANGE WAYS has my guest.
        He comes at times when I am unprepared, yet how can I refuse him?
        I watch all night with lighted lamp; he stays away; when the light goes out and the room is bare he comes claiming his seat, and can I keep him waiting?
        I laugh and make merry with friends, then suddenly I start up, for lo! he passes me by in sorrow, and I know my mirth was vain.
        I have often seen a smile in his eyes when my heart ached, then I knew my sorrow was not real.
        Yet I never complain when I do not understand him.
        I AM THE BOAT, you are the sea, and also the boatman.
        Though you never make the shore, though you let me sink, why should I be foolish and afraid?
        Is reaching the shore a greater prize than losing myself with you?
        If you are only the haven, as they say, then what is the sea?
        Let it surge and toss me on its waves, I shall be content.
        I live in you whatever and however you appear. Save me or kill me as you wish, only never leave me in other hands.
MAKE WAY, O bud, make way, burst open thy heart and make way.
        The opening spirit has overtaken thee, canst thou remain a bud any longer?