Breeze’s gentle thumping of the flower,
Shower of the dew on petals,
The peace offer of the pleasant stroll,
Or a pleasant and intoxicating act,
For recapturing a refreshing dream,
Or a flowery hands’ thumping of the heart.
What is this! My God!
Who is looking for sparks?
Opening the book of life,
Turning it leaf by leaf!
Chapters of the book have slept,
Dreams of beauty spots have slept,
The pangs of youth have slept,
Questions are awake,
but all the answers have slept.
Whose finger it is on life’s violin?
Tinkering like a stroke,
The tunes that have slept in the string,
Who has come to wake them up?
Is it the mad tide or a storm?
Breaking the silence of Hoogly,
Shaking the boat,
That had, a long time ago, crossed the river,
Carrying the tired boatsman,
In the arms of the quiet bank,
Waiting for the sure appearance
Of the trustworthy morning star.
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