AN OLDISH upcountry man tall and lean,
with shaven shrunken cheeks like wilted fruits,
jogging along the road to the market town
in his patched up pair of country-made shoes
and a short tunic made of printed chintz,
a frayed umbrella tilted over his head,
a bamboo stick under his armpit.
It is a sultry morning of August,
the light is vague filtering through thin white clouds.
The last night seemed smothered
under a damp black blanket:
and today a sluggish wind
is fitfully stirring a dubious response
among amlaki leaves.
The stranger passed by the hazy skyline of my mind,
a mere person,
with no definition, no care that may trouble him,
no needs for any the least thing.
And I appeared to him for a moment
at the farthest limit of the unclaimed land of his life,
in the grey mist that separates one
from all relations.
I imagine he has his cow in his stall,
a parrot in the cage,
his wife with bangles round her arms,
grinding wheat,
the washerman for his neighbour,
the grocer's shop across the lane,
a harassing debt to the man from Peshawar,
and somewhere my own indistinct self
only as a passing person.

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.

     শান্তিনিকেতনে চা-চক্র প্রবর্তন উপলক্ষে
হায় হায় হায়
দিন চলি যায়।
চা-স্পৃহ চঞ্চল
চাতকদল চল
      চল চল হে!
টগবগ উচ্ছল
কাথলিতল জল
      কল কল হে!
এল         চীন-গগন হতে
      পূর্বপবনস্রোতে
             শ্যামল রসধরপুঞ্জ,
      শ্রাবণবাসরে
      রস ঝরঝর ঝরে
             ভুঞ্জ হে ভুঞ্জ
                 দলবল হে!
এস  পুঁথিপরিচালক
      তদ্ধিতকারক
             তারক তুমি কাণ্ডারী,
এস         গণিত-ধুরন্ধর
      কাব্য-পুরন্দর
             ভূবিবরণ ভাণ্ডারী।
এস         বিশ্বভার-নত
      শুষ্ক-রুটিনপথ
             মরুপরিচারণ ক্লান্ত!
এস         হিসাব'পত্তর'ত্রস্ত
      তহবিল-মিল-ভুলগ্রস্ত
             লোচনপ্রান্ত
                 ছল ছল হে!
এস         গীতিবীথিচর
      তম্বুরকরধর
             তানতালতলমগ্ন,
এস         চিত্রী চটপট
      ফেলি তুলিকাপট
             রেখাবর্ণবিলগ্ন।
এস         কনস্‌টিট্যুশন
      নিয়ম-বিভূষণ
             তর্কে অপরিশ্রান্ত,
এস         কমিটি-পলাতক
      বিধান-ঘাতক
             এস দিগ্‌ভ্রান্ত
                 টলমল হে।