I asked if I should pray，

    But the Brahmin said，

    ‘Pray for nothing， say

    Every night in bed，

    “I have been a king，

    I have been a slave，

    Nor is there anything，

    Fool， rascal¹， knave²，

    That I have not been，

    And yet upon my breast

    A myriad³ heads have lain.“

    That he might set at rest

    A boy‘s turbulent days

    Mohini Chatterjee

    Spoke⁴ these， or words like these.

    I add in commentary，

    ‘Old lovers yet may have

    All that time denied—

    Grave is heaped on grave

    That they be satisfied—

    Over the blackened earth

    The old troops parade，

    Birth is heaped on birth

    That such cannonade

    May thunder time away，

    Birth-hour and death-hour meet，

    Or， as great sages⁵ say，

    Men dance on deathless feet.‘

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