~Jekhane holo na khela she khela ghore
Aaji nishidin mon kemon kore ~
The empty playhouse- devoid of playthings, of playmates, of happiness and laughter.
I just hope I am not getting high on Tagore. In times of peril it is almost derisive how that old man rescues me. All that he has written is recondite to me. I hardly read anything and could not figure out the little that I did. I am too naïve to comprehend his greatness. I threw up thrice yesterday. Feeling dizzy all the time with bouts of occult poetry to ease me or make it worse. There is nothing supernatural about that dead man and his work, nothing celestial, nothing mystical-that is what I thought till yesterday. Till I realized that his songs are the only refuge to this mundane life of mine. I am consumed by his greatness, by his versatility. I hope this quazi-intellectual phase is ephemeral. Thy ghost shall leave my soul and return back to thy celestial form.