Done is the play in this hall,
Time ripens for curtains to fall;
O the inmost of the silent wanderers of my life!
Turn back at close of an imperishable day.
In transient hex, moments dazzle;
Grant my eyes—filled in broken dreams—to explore;
Let me discern what you leave aside
And what is treasured in last savings
At the end impression of this pleasure
The vision has not satiated in sight of proximity,
I wonder if in introduction of distant horizon of severance
It will show up through spectra of a setting sun
In appealing shines and darkness
Upon the brim of catastrophe,
I know not if I would ever perceive
Why is this coming—and going,
Why is there so much of gain to lose only;
I know not if you will paint again
Today’s wiped up image
In new colours, O the creative poet.
(A small effort to transliterate Tagore's "Sesh Katha")
Time ripens for curtains to fall;
O the inmost of the silent wanderers of my life!
Turn back at close of an imperishable day.
In transient hex, moments dazzle;
Grant my eyes—filled in broken dreams—to explore;
Let me discern what you leave aside
And what is treasured in last savings
At the end impression of this pleasure
The vision has not satiated in sight of proximity,
I wonder if in introduction of distant horizon of severance
It will show up through spectra of a setting sun
In appealing shines and darkness
Upon the brim of catastrophe,
I know not if I would ever perceive
Why is this coming—and going,
Why is there so much of gain to lose only;
I know not if you will paint again
Today’s wiped up image
In new colours, O the creative poet.
(A small effort to transliterate Tagore's "Sesh Katha")
