IT is TIME for me to go, mother; I am going. When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn you stretch out your arms for your baby in the bed,
I shall say, 'Baby is not there!'-mother, I am going.
I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you; and I shall be ripples in the water when you bathe, and kiss you and kiss you again.
In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves you will hear my whisper in your bed, and my laughter will flash with the lightning through the open window into your room.
If you lie awake, thinking of your baby till late into the night, I shall sing to you from the stars, 'Sleep, mother, sleep.'
On the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed, and lie upon your bosom while you sleep.
I shall become a dream, and through the little opening of your eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep; and when you wake up and look round startled, like a twinkling firefly I shall flit out into the darkness.
When, on the great festival of puja, the neighbours' children come and play about the house, I shall melt into the music of the flute and throb in your heart all day.
Dear auntie will come with puja-presents and will ask, 'Where is our baby, sister?' Mother, you will tell her softly, 'He is in the pupils of my eyes, he is in my body and in my soul.'

ক্ষণকালের গীতি
      চিরকালের স্মৃতি।

AT THE DUSK OF the early dawn, Ramananda, the great Brahmin
Teacher, stood in the sacred water of the Ganges waiting long for the cleansing touch of the stream to flow over his heart.
He wondered why it was not granted him this morning.
The sun rose and he prayed for the divine light to bless his
thoughts and open his life to truth.
But his mind remained dark and distraught.
The sun climbed high over the sal forest and the fishermen's
boats spread their sails, the milk-maids with milk-vessels on head went to the market.
The Guru started up, left the water and walked along the sand
amidst weeds and rushes and clamorous saliks, busy digging holes for their nests on the slope of the river bank.
He reached the lane which took him to the evil-smelling village
of the tanners where lean dogs were crunching bones at the wayside and kites swooped down upon casual morsels of flesh.
Bhajan sat before his cottage door under an ancient tamarind tree
working at camel's saddle.
His body shrank with awe when he saw the Guru fresh from his bath
come to the unclean neighbourhood and the grizzly old tanner bowed himself down to the dust from a distance.
Ramananda drew him to his heart and Bhajan, his eyes filled with
tears, cried in dismay, 'Master, why bringest upon thee such pollution!'
And Master said, 'While on my way to my bath I shunned your
village and thus my heart missed the blessings of the Ganges whose mother's love is for all.
'Her own touch comes down at last upon me at the touch of your
body with mine and I am purified.
'I cried this morning to the Sun, "The divine Person who is in
thee is also within me but why do I not meet thee in my mind?"
I have met him at this moment when his light descends upon your
forehead as well as on mine, and there is no need for me today to go to the temple.'