To the Wayfarer

Have you ever, traveler—
broken through Nilanjana's pride?
heard Sucharita's gentle words?
seen Suchismita's radiant smile?
understood Priyangbada's sweet tongue?
If you know nothing of these, wanderer,
then tell me—how can I truly love you?

Have you seen a camellia bloom at the mountain's foot?
Have you grasped the meaning in Rangabati's dance?
Have you played the flute beneath the kadam tree?
Have you listened, with patience, to Bishnupriya's gentle reproach?
You understand nothing of the heart's tender ways, traveler,
then tell me—how can I make room for you in my heart's chambers tonight?

Do you understand shyness, wanderer, in Lajjabati's glance?
Have you fallen for the dark magic in Krishnakali's black eyes?
Have you seen love in the tears that fall from two pairs of eyes?
Have your feet ever slipped on the rhythm of sweet words?
Listen, traveler, when you've never thought of even this much,
then tell me—how can I keep you in my fond affections?

Have you learned to drown in the ocean's salt waters?
Have you ever endured burning in the desert's blazing sun?
Have you learned to swallow lumps of sorrow without pain?
When night falls, have you found Akashneela's shadow in the searching sky?
Traveler, what kind of talk is this! After all this time, you've seen nothing?
Then tell me—how can I truly make you the beloved of my heart?