Shishur Jibon (The Child’s Life) is a part of Tagore’s 1922 collection of poems, Shishu Bholanath (Child Bholanath).
THE CHILD’S LIFE
Do we have the
courage to be a child?
That’s why we die old.
We store every little thing,
Hoard over time in trunks,
Stash in piles.
Today is ruined with thoughts
Of tomorrow. Tomorrow, we’ll stock
For the burdens of the next day.
We get objects of desire,
And realise we have no need for them.
We quest for things gone astray.
Fearing for the unknown future,
We lose sight of the path,
And plan for the day after.
The future will always
Be shrouded in mystery.
Then, will we have no reprieve?
As we ignite the lamp of intellect,
The flame flickers in the breeze —
We calculate each step.
Numerous people advise
With subtle judgement
Hair-splitting details before every quest.
Let my heart again be filled
With the desire to be a trustful child.
Let me flow freely like the breeze,
Swiftly unmask fears
Hovering about the future.
I will confront them as they are seen.
By the pond or on the rooftop,
Mingling the known and unknown,
The common and uncommon,
I will roll a ball of mud.
This will be my toy.
Happiness doesn’t need to be bought.
Taking on the onus of adulthood,
I come to this huge market,
Where grownups push and jostle.
Selling my world, when I
Head home, I take
With me only verbosity.
I have wasted away my time
looking for bargains.
The hours passed swiftly.
As dusk turns to twilight,
I suddenly feel, I do not like
The deals I made deftly.
Our lives start
With childhood.
Let childhood prevail again.
Let us find companionship
Like land and water,
Let us play again in the dusty glen.
Breaking the boundaries of possibilities,
Let us sail on waves of impossibilities,
Navigating on a ferry of dreams.
Again, let’s abandon logic
And create our world of magic,
Forgetting the practical realms.
The first day when I arrived
In this new world,
Sunlight bathed my life.
That period was filled with
Childish imaginings —
Where did it come from?
Who secretly beads
Dewdrops each night?
Crickets chirp in unison.
At dawn, I notice,
The interplay
Of glittering lights.
There was a time
When holidays blew in
With breezy blue skies.
We looked for partners
While playing games
As childhood flew by.
Trees in play bloom flowers.
Flowers in play fruit fruits.
Fruits sprout new buds.
Lands play with the lapping water.
Waters play with the swaying breeze.
The breeze plays in its own tune.
With the youth,
You remain young
Despite your baggage.
You fly paper lanterns
Of many colours,
Paint the skies with vibrant shades.
That day I fantasied
Being back by your side.
We played together holding hands.
We floated many dreams,
Conversed on sad and happy themes,
And together, we relaxed.
The flowers burdened
By the colours of seasons,
Flow away in the stream of time.
Again, they come to shore
As the breeze blows,
Drifting to the waterside.
In the wicker basket of the world,
Your flowers with my garland twirled,
Decorating the ferry of seasons.
I have hope in my heart,
The bokul ferry’ll return to the earth,
Listening to the shiuli’s reasons.
When I hummed a song
That day on my own,
It drifted by unoccupied.
That day, I saw a flicker
In your eyes of laughter,
You recognised me by your side.
Seeing your dusty play, your light,
My heart was filled with delight,
Despite the sad notes on the flute.
I understood that spring,
You heard me sing.
I too love to hear your tune.
The day passed in fields and paths.
Dusk settled in.
If you bid me farewell,
Then in your twilight
Raise the sail of the boat,
I will cross the river aswell.
Again, O friend of the child,
Let’s play on our own to abide
In a youthful Universe.
Gazing at your face,
Your world I’ll embrace,
I’ll view it in a simple light.
.
This poem has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty with editorial input by Sohana Manzoor
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