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(Rabindranath Tagore)

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Autumn, your offering of a crimson glow of the morning sun,

Spreads and overflows the fascination of the fingers!

Autumn, in your dew-bathed tresses,

In the end of your cloth sprawling over the forest path,

You quicken the heartbeats of the morning.

Yonder your wristlet studded with rubies,

Brings a flash of light over your darkened courtyard.

In the melody humming over the shade of the bower,

In the gestures of your wondrous dance,

What a shiver do you bring to the bosom of the Sheuli-grove!

(The original poem is written in Bengali by Rabindranath Tagore. The poem is translated here by Subhamay Ray)

If the poem appeals to your sensibilities, please switch on your speakers or use your headphones to listen to another poem. Bengali is a language of lyrical felicity and a sojourn into the heart of Bengali literature may well be a revealing experience for you.

It is a world not only resplendent with the mind's colours but also palpitating with life, a world peopled by forms more real than living men. Here, while the spirit imbibes the tenderness of the lush green nature that abounds in Bengal, the emotions remain intensely human.

This literature holds in it much of the grim realities of life and yet nurtures and enlivens a sense of beauty that sublimates the seemingly impliable fate and an endless struggle against it. If its simplicity touches the core of the heart, its lucidity would make the soul exuberant.

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