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The day my creator created my mind
Like a mansion with several wings
With various furniture and fixtures
He kept one outer room reserved
For guests of various kinds
Its inner wing, silent and lonely,
He kept locked and threw away the key.
Now and then travelers come
They ask me to open its door.
I don’t know how to open it.
Outside the gusty wind
Is filled by the sky with a lot of dust
For there the crowds gather
And have all their merriment and fun.
The inner way of my being is lonely
In autumn it is covered by sheuli flowers
Its grasses are drenched by dew
In the rainy season in the wet winds
Its traces are lost
Under the pollens of kadam blooms
With heaps of flowers when Chaitra comes
It lays floral designs of various hues.
There at midday
A shy little bird sitting on a branch
Covered with leaves
In plaintive tune calls its listless love
In far away horizon the evening star
Intently waits
For footfalls of someone unknown
Coming floating along the southern wind
Through the leaves of shirish.
On the grasses below covered with fallen leaves
My fragrant leisurely moments
I pass playing my flute.
With a far away look I wait alone –
For the traveler who has been traveling long
And has found the key on the sea beach unknown
She has heard the call
Coming from the beginning of time
Her journey has come to an end
Like a bee she will open the secret door
And find what nobody else has known before.
Translation of the poem Chabi from the collection Purabi by Rabindranath Tagore.
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