Among your dear ones
In the midst of a lot of jubilation
You were born
This blue sky, this light, flowers, birds
Your mother’s loving eyes
The showers of rainy days
And drops of autumn dews
All welcomed you to a new life
At the time of your birth
In an instant
You got these endless gifts
To a home you were welcome.
But away from home you will die at night
While walking along a lonely path
Echoed by breaking waves
And footsteps of homeless wanderers
Where the woodlands listlessly moan
With farewell songs cascade the murmuring springs
As offerings to an unknown deity
The stars travel to an unknown shrine.
There will be nothing to look back
From behind
You will be called back by none
Wide open will remain your door
None will block but point your way
Only the speechless night will keep the vigil
To the traveller death is but the last call
To walk on.
Transcreation of the poem Mrityur aohban from the collection Purabi by Rabindranath Tagore. Composed on 3rd November, 1924 on the ship Andes.
