You gave me a gold fountain pen –
Suitable furniture for writing
A small desk
Of walnut wood
Of different sizes.
Enamelled silver paper-cutting
Scissors and knives. Sealing wax, red ribbons.
A glass paperweight,
Red, blue and green pencils.
You must write me letters, you told me,
On alternate days.
I’ve sat down to write a letter
I’ve bathed already
But I cannot think of anything to write about.
There’s only one piece of news –
Which you know too.
But still it feels as though
You don’t know it well enough.
So I think I will let you know that
Every time I start writing
It becomes obvious that this news isn’t so simple.
I’m no poet;
I cannot lend voice to words,
Nor can I picture them
The more I write, the more paper I rip.
It’s past ten.
Your nephew Boku must go to school,
Let me give him his meal.
For the last time let me write
Is just scribbles and doodles on the blotter.
[Original poem: Patralekha]
One thought on “Writing A Letter: Rabindranath Tagore”
A nice translation. Excellent.