WHY DO YOU sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me, mother dear? The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all wet, and you don't mind it. Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother to come home from school. What has happened to you that you look so strange? Haven't you got a letter from father today? I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost everybody in the town. Only, father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the postman is a wicked man. But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear. To-morrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid to buy some pens and papers. I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find a single mistake. I shall write from A right up to K. But, mother, why do you smile? You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does! But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters beautifully big. When I finish my writing, do you think I shall be so foolish as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag? I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by letter help you to read my writing. I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice letters.
IT IS THE pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky. It is this sorrow of separation that gazes in silence all night from star to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy darkness of July. It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and desires, into sufferings and joys in human homes; and this it is that ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's heart.
