EMANCIPATION from the bondage of the soil
is no freedom for the tree.

THE SPRING flowers breakout like the passionate pain of unspoken love. With their breath comes the memory of my old day songs. My heart of a sudden has put on green leaves of desire. My love came not but her touch is in my limbs, and her voice comes across the fragrant fields. Her gaze is in the sad depth of the sky, but where are her eyes? Her kisses flit in the air, but where are her lips?

যাওয়া-আসার একই যে পথ
      জান না তা কি অন্ধ?
যাবার পথ রোধিতে গেলে
      আসার পথ বন্ধ।