THE EARLY autumn day is cloudless. The river is full to the brim, washing the naked roots of the tottering tree by the ford. The long narrow path, like the thirsty tongue of the village, dips down into the stream.
My heart is full, as I look around me and see the silent sky and the flowing water, and feel that happiness is spread abroad, as simply as a smile on a child's face.

FREEDOM FROM fear is the freedom I claim for you, my Motherland!-fear, the phantom demon, shaped by your own distorted dreams;
Freedom from the burden of ages, bending your head, breaking your back, blinding your eyes to the beckoning call of the future;
Freedom from shackles of slumber wherewith you fasten yourself to night's stillness, mistrusting the star that speaks of truth's adventurous path;
Freedom from the anarchy of destiny, whose sails are weakly yielded to blind uncertain winds, and the helm to a hand ever rigid and cold as Death;
Freedom from the insult of dwelling in a puppet's world, where movements are started through brainless wires, repeated through mindless habits; where figures wait with patient obedience for a master of show to be stirred into a moment's mimicry of life.

কাঁচড়াপাড়াতে এক
    ছিল রাজপুত্তর,
রাজকন্যারে লিখে
    পায় না সে উত্তর।
টিকিটের দাম দিয়ে
রাজ্য বিকাবে কি এ,
রেগেমেগে শেষকালে
    বলে ওঠে--দুত্তোর!
ডাকবাবুটিকে দিল
    মুখে ডালকুত্তোর।