Lights were all switched off in all the houses of Shantiniketan
Whole day’s toil and weariness touched all the eyes
Everybody slept. Stage was prepared under the tree
Renowned songsters, researchers and professors
From Kolkata returned to the rest house after the whole day’s
Of merry-making. Tomorrow’s twenty-fifth Boishakh
The birthday of Rabindra Nath Tagore.
The vice-Chancellor of Bishwa Varati passed his whole day
In his cool room reshuffling the whole day’s programmes.
The air conditioner worked tireless to deliver cool air
On the summer-dry faces. With the rising sun in the morning Young students of Shantiniketan will start singing morning songs
But at this midnight somebody cut open the darkness with
Sharp shining knife in the butter, the wind started to blow,
The stars started to dropp down from the sky into the stage
Like flowers. With the moonlight spreading all over
Rabindra Nath came up at the stage. A piece of brain
Fell down on the carpet stretched for the audience
From the burning pier smell of smoke and butter-oil is felt
Rabindra Nath opened his fist and made his dreams fly
Then he came down from the dais and somebody unlashed
Chains from his legs, he walked ahead and
Reached the burning stage, before sun rise
He has to reach twenty-second Boishask.