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Last Poems 11.

Last Poems 11

 By the shore of the River Roop-naran
 I woke
 and knew this world
 was not a dream.
 In blood-letters I saw
 my own form
 and knew myself
 in wound upon wound,
 pain after pain.
 Truth is hard--
 hardness I have loved--
 it won't deceive.
 Till death, this life, the ascetic act,
 to earn truth's terrible value,
 to pay back all loans in death.

 13 May 1941 (3:15 a.m.)


Translated from Bengali by Wendy Barker and Saranindranath Tagore
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Author:Barker, Wendy; Tagore, Saranindranath
Publication:the new renaissance
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2008
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