Maa, you are an endless exhibition / of sweet-sour happiness

His final sentiments were etched into the table before he succumbed to his final rest: "I found solace in the mountains. They demanded nothing and remained steadfast by my side."

My train just started / I found my seat / When she called me

Was it a spectacle—filmed the whole incident? / Why didn’t you withstand? / Why didn’t you try to desist?

As I turn back, my eyes catch sight of what appears to be hands, but of a tan, furry kind, feeling its way inside the sliding doors

It is perhaps not an overstatement to say that humans are, at their core, wanderers.

The night smoke carries out the riots of innocents,

Rose-tinted glasses are just red, and I have painted myself with the color now that the hollow of your eyes isn’t there, now that 

I plead but I know there is nothing I can do. Akbar, in a rare fit of courage, tries to intervene. But the old man does not budge. Maybe he knows about Mina and me.

“The roads are too clean. The sun is too bright,” she thought.

Sumedha replied with annoyance, "I will make him say the words. It's so simple, 'Apni kemon achhen, bhalo?' Why can't he say it?"

The village folk remembered the moon of that night, and they described it.

Somehow, the taste of tear gas

Hold on to the hand of your lover. Because when the baton falls it will be between the spaces where we stand.

Reception of Tagore in the Hispanic world is a significant literary event in itself because they acknowledged Tagore during such a time when the occidental enthusiasm for him was declining

Stay in a group, never in alleyways

In a world spun from the threads of chaos, we are born into a tapestry of shadows. We are shimmering maidens in the night, nurturing within us a fire both subtle and strong. Yet, the air around us is heavy with whispers–danger and desire intertwined.

Translated by Mohammad Shafiqul Islam

Leave a flower from your bun when you depart, my love.

Chaos. More chaos.