Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of a road in the
lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil to accept her lover.

Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines that I
held in my hand when I was a child.

Many a glad day has come in my life, and I have laughed with
merrymakers on festival nights.

On grey mornings of rain I have crooned many an idle song.

I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of bakulas
woven by the hand of love.

Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh jasmines
that filled my hands when I was a child.




THE BANYAN TREE


O you shaggy-headed banyan tree standing on the bank of the pond,
have you forgotten the little child, like the birds that have
nested in your branches and left you?

Do you not remember how he sat at the window and wondered at the
tangle of your roots that plunged underground?