Who will light the world when I am gone, asked
the setting sun. Fearing a burden so great,
all kept mum. A little clay lamp, it said, Lord,
I’ll shine my best in your accord.
(This is my translation of a Bengali poem, ‘কর্তব্যগ্রহণ’, by Rabindranath Tagore.)
Let your music fall against my face
like the Shravan rain.
On my chest, in my eyes.
With the morning light,
and through the darkness of the night,
let it fall on my everyday pain and happiness.
Let it fall, let it fall like the Shravan rain.
How you revive a fruitless, flowerless branch
with the monsoon breeze; revive me
so with your music. Let it seep through
my wretched-wrought,
lifeless self. On life’s unending thirst, hunger,
unceasingly;
let it fall, let it fall like the Shravan rain.
(This is my translation of a Bengali song, ‘শ্রাবণের ধারার মতো পড়ুক ঝরে’, by Rabindranath Tagore)
