Child O my child
Playing with dust
How you spend
Your day without end;
I just smile
Seeing you thus
Playing with bunch of grass;

And I remain how
With books and copies
My mind I rake
My soul I plough;
The copies I fill
With drawings and sketches
Moments of time I seal;

Child O my child
Playing with dust
How have I forgotten
Many little things;
Where could I get
Toys , thinking about them
How I have lost in the game
How go I searching in vain
Gold and silver how I gather
False (thinking thy name);

And You, the Child
How you do create
Whatever in hands thine
You with ease get,

And I how spend time
Wishing to get
Which  is not in my fate;

How do i go beyond
The implausible
How by that
Do i turn a song, (a fable,)
How do I on the river of dreams
Float my boat ( as it seems).

{*note: it is a transliteration of a song/ poem of Rabindranath Tagore, titled 'নির্লিপ্ত ' ( Nirlipto) as can be found in ' শিশু' ( Shishu) section of Collected Works/ রবীন্দ্ররচনাবলি, volume two, Birth Centenary edition. The translation/ transliteration is my humble tribute to the Tagore, the child forever, the greatest bard and poet and philosopher of all times.}


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