Chapter 4 4

31① My sweetheart, I seem to see you, in the morning when all things are about to wake up, standing under a waterfall of pleasurable dreams, your veins overflowing with its rushing and splashing water.Maybe, you are strolling in the garden of heaven, the pretty jasmine, lily, and oleander are competing for freshness, and the colorful fallen petals are floating in your embraced arms and falling on your passionate heart. Your laughter is like a song, but the lyrics are lost in the chorus of all things contending, lost in the invisible ecstasy fragrance of a hundred flowers.Your laughter is like the bright moon hidden in your heart, and your lips are like windows through which the moonlight shines.

I forgot the reason, and I don't want to know it, I just remember that your laughter is the blazing life. ① This poem was written by Satyandranath Datta (1882-1922), a Bengali poet and an admirer of Tagore.Author of poetry collections "Flute and Pipa", "Sacrifice to Fire", "Flowers of Harvest", etc. Most of his poems are in the style of folk songs, and are famous for their loud rhythm, quick rhythm and fluent language. In this respect, his influence on poetry creation at that time was even greater than that of Tagore.Dart is fluent in Sanskrit, Persian, English and French.He almost translated famous ancient and modern poems, novels, dramas, etc. from all over the world into Bengali through English and French. Although the translation is not very faithful to the original text, the writing style is fluent.

32 How many times, spring gently knocks on our door, and I am busy with work, and you ignore it.Today, when I'm left alone, heartbroken, and downhearted, spring is here again, and I don't know how to keep it from the door.When spring wanted to present us with a crown of joy, our door was closed tightly, but now, when spring brings a sad gift, I have to let it pass through the door unhindered. 33 In the past, the noisy spring broke into my life with laughter all the way, scattered roses all over the earth, and the sky towards Xiao was dyed fiery red by the kiss of the young leaves of the carefree tree.Today, through the lonely path, through the lonely path, along the lonely shade of the trees, spring quietly sneaked into my solitary cabin, and sat quietly on the terrace, watching the green of the field before me change into a vast and dim sky.

34 Like a low-hanging rain cloud, the time to say goodbye has come.I just had time to tie a red ribbon on your wrist with trembling hands.Now, it is the season when the Mohua flowers are in full bloom. I sat alone on the grass, thinking to myself over and over again: "Do you still have that red ribbon on your wrist?" You go away along the path beside the flax field which is full of yellow flowers.I see that the wreath I made for you last night is still hanging loosely on your hair.Why won't you wait a while, and let me gather bright flowers in the morning for a final gift?I don't know, has the garland hanging loosely on your head fallen on the path by accident?

How many evenings and dawns have I sung for you; it was the last song that whispered when you went away.You won't stop a moment longer to hear me sing you a new song just for you, for you forever.I don't know, have you tired of that song of mine that you crooned as you walked through the fields at last? 35 Last night, the clouds were overwhelming, heralding heavy rain; gusts of wind shook the branches of the struggling olive trees. I hope that in this stormy, lonely and desolate night, if the dream will come, he should turn into my beloved and come to my sleep. The wind still whimpers across the fields, and dawn's pale cheeks are wet with tears.My dream has also come to naught, because reality is cruel, and dreams have their own opinions and act arbitrarily.

Last night, the darkness was intoxicated by the storm, the rain was like the veil of the night, torn into pieces by the strong wind; in this night where the stars are hidden and the rain is noisy, the dream is like meeting my beloved, will the reality be jealous Woolen cloth? 36 My shackles, you compose music in my heart; I play with you all day long, and make you an ornament that adds to my splendor. We are close friends; you have also made me fear, but fear makes me love you more.You are my companion in the long night, before I bid you farewell let me bow to you, my shackles. 37 O my little boat, your rudder is wrecked, and your sails are torn to pieces. You often drift to sea, dragging your anchor, and you don't care.But this time, a crack has opened in your hull, and your holds are heavy with cargo, and it is time for you to call off your voyage, and let the lapping waves rock you to sleep.

Ah, I know that all exhortations and admonitions are in vain.The veiled mysterious fate of destruction tempts you.The storm is coming at you like crazy.The waves are high, roaring to the sky, and the passionate dance will shake you. Break the chains, then, my little boat, throw off the chains, and run fearlessly to your ruin! 38 When I was young, I used to swim in the fast-moving rapids; the spring wind was blowing profligately, the branches were full of flowers, and the birds were singing without fatigue. The torrent of enthusiasm drowned my reason, and I sailed at a dizzying speed; I didn't have time to observe, feel, and understand this real world with my heart.

Now, when the days are gone, my boat is aground, and I hear the deep music of all things, and the firmament opens to me its bosom full of stars. 39 Behind my eyes, there is a spectator who seems to have seen things in ancient times, and is familiar with the life of the world in the first chaos, and these forgotten scenes flicker on the grass stems and quiver on the leaves.He has seen the face of his beloved, newly veiled in the twilight and starlight.Therefore, in his eyes, the blue sky seems to be suffering from countless gatherings and partings, and there seems to be a strong desire in the spring breeze-the nostalgia for the whispers of the ancient centuries.

40 The lost youth sent a message, saying to me: "I am waiting for you in the tremors of May that has not yet come, when smiles ripen into tears, and time is pained by unsung songs." It says: "Tread upon the track of time that is gone, through the gates of death, come to me! For dreams pass away, hopes fail, and the fruits of the years you gather rot. But I am eternal truth, You will meet me again and again in your journey of life from one shore to the other."