On the brink of the river of youth, I sit,
Awash by the currents of an unknown flood,
By the fire of restlessness, I'm lit.
The lamp floats by,
In rhythm with the crests and the troughs,
O the unblossomed lotus bud!
What's this secret desire that fills me up?
In a burning red of shame and love?
Surrounded by its fragrance,
A drop of tear testifying the stance.
In pain, O the fluttering white dove!
O wind! Slow down, Slow ---
So real is your caress, it bends me low.
My conscience does fear,
The bonds of constraint might tear!
An unreasonable melancholy brings tears of apprehension,
On my eye-lids rest the waters of passion,
Shining as if the crests and the troughs
Of the youth river bringing my doom...
O the ardour in bloom!
On the occasion of Tagore's 150th birth anniversary, not a word to word translation, but the above effort draws its inspiration from the Rabindrasangeet:
Kon choncholo bonyay tolomolo tolomol//
Shoromroktoraage taar gopon shwopno jaage,
Ek bindu noyonojolo//
Dheere bao Dheere bao, shomirono,
Shonkito chitto mor paachhe bhange brintodor -
Taai okarono korunay mor aankhi kore chholochhol//"