The New Year
[A free translation of the part of a poem written during a storm on the last day of a year.]
LINE a fruit shaken free by an impatient wind from the veils of its mother flower thou comest, New Year, whirling in a frantic dance amidst the stampede of the wind-lashed clouds and infuriate showers, while trampled by thy turbulence are scattered away the faded and the frail in an eddying agony of death.
Thou art no dreamer afloat on a languorous breeze lingering among the hesitant whisper and hum of an uncertain season.
Thine is a majestic-march, 0 terrible stranger, thundering forth an ominous incantation, driving the days on to the perils of a pathless dark, where thou earnest a dumb signal in thy banner, a decree of destiny undeeiphered.
- itAttINDRANATH TAGOIIE.