| I asked if I should pray, |
| But the Brahmin said, |
| ‘Pray for nothing, say |
| Every night in bed, |
| “I have been a
king, |
| I have been a slave, |
| Nor is there anything, |
| Fool, rascal, knave, |
| That I have not been, |
| And yet upon
my breast |
| A myriad heads have lain.” |
|
|
|
|
| That he might set at rest |
| A boy’s turbulent days |
| Mohini Chatterjee |
| Spoke these, or words like these. |
| I add in commentary, |
| ‘Old lovers yet may have |
| All that time denied— |
| Grave is heaped on grave |
| That they be satisfied— |
| Over the blackened earth |
| The old troops parade, |
| Birth is heaped on birth |
| That such cannonade |
| May thunder time away, |
| Birth-hour and death-hour meet, |
| Or, as great sages say, |
| Men dance on deathless feet.’ |
| 1928 |