# Sense in Silence I cannot render a translation without the Bengali source text. You've provided the English title "Sense in Silence," but I need the actual Bengali poem to translate. Please share the Bengali poem you'd like translated, and I'll create a literary English version that honors its voice, imagery, and essence.

 
What a blessing: night and we are alone!
The river spreads like a mirror, all the stars ablaze;
And then...tilt your head and look up:
What depth, what purity hangs above us!


Oh, call me mad! Say
what you will; in that moment I am undone—
in mind and heart alike, a surge of love
so fierce I cannot hold my tongue, will not, don't know how!


I am sick, I am in love and tormented by loving—
Oh, listen! Understand me!—I hide nothing,
and I must speak: I love you—
You alone, I love you and desire you!


No, I have not changed. Into deep age
I remain the same devotee, enslaved to your love,
and the old poison of chains, exquisite and cruel,
still burns within my blood.


Though memory insists a grave divides us,
though each day I rave lifelessly to another,
I cannot believe you will forget me—
not when you stand before me.


Should some other beauty flicker for a moment,
I question, about to recognize you;
and I hear the tenderness of what was,
and, shuddering, I sing.


I will tell you nothing,
will not trouble you at all,
and that I endure in silence
I will not dare to hint at anything.


Night flowers sleep through the day,
but when the sun slips behind the grove,
their petals quietly unfold—
and I hear my own heart blooming.


And in this aching, weary chest
night's moisture settles... I tremble.
I ask only to meet your smile
or to catch your approving gaze.


I sing you no love song,
but your beloved beauty itself.
They speak of the singer at dawn
as one in love with a rose's song—in love!


I am glad to praise relentlessly
over your fragrant cradle.
A song needs beauty to exist,
but beauty needs no song, though.