IN THE UPPER sky, lamped by science,
the night forgets itself,
while in the underground gloom
lean hunger and bloated voracity
crash against each other
till the earth begins to tremble
and the pillars of triumph
are perilously cracked,
swaying on the brink of gaping gulfs.
Do not howl in fear
or angrily judge God,
let the swelling evil burst itself in pain
and vomit out its accumulated filth.
When the victims of a carnivorous rage
are dragged by the competition of ravenous fangs,
let the hideousness of the blood-soaked blasphemy
arouse divine anger heralding a heroic peace
out of an awful retribution.
They throng in the church
in a primitive frenzy of faith made keen by fear
which hopes to flatter their God
into a complacent mood
into a feebleness of leniency.
They feel half sure that peace will be brought down
into this demented earth
by the mere volume of their wailing
uttered in sacred text.
They have confidence in their indulgent God
who may send them timely wisdom
to divert all sacrifices needed for the worship
towards the less strong,
leaving their own soiled hoardings undivided.
But let us hope,
for the sake of the dignity of moral justice in this world,
that God will never suffer to be cheated of His due
by the miserly manipulation of a diplomatic piety
carefully avoiding all cost to itself,
that a terrible penance may have to be passed through
to its ultimate end,
leaving no remnant of poison
in a treacherously healing scar.

WHEN STORM clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down,
The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its bagpipes among the bamboos.
Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows where, and dance upon the grass in wild glee.
Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.
They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to come out to play before it is time, their master makes them stand in a corner.
When the rains come they have their holidays.
Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle in the wild wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the flower children rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white.
Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars are.
Haven't you seen how eager they are to get there? Don't you know why they are in such a hurry?
Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms: they have their mother as I have my own.

নানা দুঃখে চিত্তের বিক্ষেপে
যাহাদের জীবনের ভিত্তি যায় বারংবার কেঁপে,
যারা অন্যমনা,তারা শোনো
আপনারে ভুলো না কখনো।
মৃত্যুঞ্জয় যাহাদের প্রাণ,
সব তুচ্ছতার ঊর্ধ্বে দীপ যারা জ্বালে অনির্বাণ,
তাহাদের মাঝে যেন হয়
তোমাদেরি নিত্য পরিচয়।
তাহাদের খর্ব কর যদি
খর্বতার অপমানে বন্দী হয়ে রবে নিরবধি।
তাদের সন্মানে মান নিয়ো
বিশ্বে যারা চিরস্মরণীয়।