WHERE IS heaven? you ask me, my child,- the sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and night; it is not of this earth.
But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and space, and it strives evermore lo be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating heart
The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother-dust.

MY HEART FEELS shy to bring to your vagrant mind
the lyric of my secret lest its meaning be missed
and its rhythm.
I shall wait for some auspicious hour
when the evening is compassionate,
your eyes drowned in its tender dimness,
and my voice reaches you
in a profound calm of truth.
I shall turn my secret round and round through my whisper
at a lonely corner of your heart,
even as the cricket among the silent sal trees
turns single-toned beads of its chirping
in the rosary of night.

বউ নিয়ে লেগে গেল                 বকাবকি
     রোগা ফণী আর মোটা পঞ্চিতে,
মণিকর্ণিকা-ঘাটে           ঠকাঠকি
     যেন বাঁশে আর সরু   কঞ্চিতে।
দুজনে না জানে এই                  বউ কার,
মিছেমিছি ভাড়া বাড়ে                   নৌকার,
পঞ্চি চেঁচায় শুধু            হাউহাউ,--
     'পারবিনে তুই মোরে  বঞ্চিতে।'
বউ বলে, 'বুঝে নিই                     দাউদাউ
     মোর তরে জ্বলে ঐ     কোন্‌ চিতে।'