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Bài số 048
Poem 48

Tác giả: Tagore Rabindranath - রবীন্দ্রনাথ ঠাকুর

Nước: Ấn Độ
Đăng bởi Vanachi vào 06/03/2007 18:16

 

Nguyên tác

The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; and the flowers were all merry by the roadside; and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds while we busily went on our way and paid no heed.

We sang no glad songs nor played; we went not to the village for barter; we spoke not a word nor smiled; we lingered not on the way. We quickened our pave more and more as the time sped by.

The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade. Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon. The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree, and I laid myself down by the water and stretched my tired limbs on the grass.

My companions laughed at me in scorn; they held their heads high and hurried on; they never looked back nor rested; they vanished in the distant blue haze. They crossed many meadows and hills, and passed through strange, far-away countries. All honour to you, heroic host of the interminable path! Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise, but found no response in me. I gave myself up for lost in the depth of a glad humiliation - in the shadow of a dim delight.

The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom slowly spread over my heart. I forgot for what I had travelled, and I surrendered my mind without struggle to the maze of shadows and songs.

At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes, I saw thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile. How I had feared that the path was long and wearisome, and the struggle to reach thee was hard!

Bản dịch (của Bản dịch của Đỗ Khánh Hoan)

Cứ để âm hưởng nguồn vui hòa vào bài ca cuối cùng tôi hát – nguồn vui làm trái đất chảy tuôn trong cỏ rối um tùm, nguồn vui thôi thúc sống chết sinh đôi nhảy múa trên cõi thế bao la, nguồn vui xô đẩy phong ba, lắc mạnh đánh thức cuộc đời, bằng tiếng cười dòn dã, nguồn vui ngồi lặng im mắt vương lệ, trong búp đỏ chót của bông sen đau thương, nguồn vui vất đi tất cả những gì đã có vào cát bụi mà không hề hay biết tí gì.

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