by Rabindranath Tagore
Everybody is blaming me for you!
They are saying,
'In all his songs
Her picture he is painting
In her ears
He is singing only love songs
Because of his addiction
He is composing
Frivolous words into poesy
And all over the land at the top of his voice
He is raving and shouting.'
For you only me they are blaming.
With the blots of these scandals
I have smeared my forehead
You will remove them smiling,
Who cares if they go on carping
If you protect me with your arms
And in your embrace go on sheltering.
Once I had a fancy to compose an epic
But by a sudden touch of your bangles
It burst into thousand songs
As a result of that accident
That epic is lying at my feet in smithereens.
Alas, those stories of wars and heroes
In as many as eight long cantos
Where have they gone!
Attacked by the chopper of your glances
All of them disappeared like dreams.
My doe-eyed darling,
I have kept an eye on my compensation
In the minds of men
I don't care to remain enthroned
If you condescend to give me
The key to your dear heart's bedroom.
After I am dead and gone
I don't want to be immortal
Only in your love
I would like to be eternal.
My doe-eyed darling
Ignoring my posthumous reputation
I have kept an eye on my compensation.