In the summer of 1941, as the Second World War raged and the Bengal Renaissance dimmed its last lamp, Rabindranath Tagore lay on his sickbed at the family mansion in Jorasanko, Calcutta. He was 80, in unrelenting pain from prostate cancer and uraemia. Yet, his mind refused silence. Propped against pillows, a pencil in his trembling hand, he dictated his final poetic masterpiece to his secretary. That work would become (শেষ লেখা) — The Last Writings .
"Ami tomay jato sajai sajiba, Sajiba taar saaji Phire jeno na laage aankhi, ami jeno na pai heri raatrir aalo-te aalo tohbaari."
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Tomar shrishtir patha’r majhe — "In the midst of your creation’s journey, I have played a small part. Now the game is over. Give me leave. I want to melt into the formless sky."
Tagore connects the beginning of creation (the first day) with the end of his own life. In the summer of 1941, as the Second
Rabindranath Tagore, the renowned Bengali polymath, wrote extensively throughout his life. He was a poet, philosopher, playwright, composer, and painter, among other things. His literary works are still widely read and studied today.
The path your star lights up is the path of his heart's core, always clear, made easy by his simple faith. Though twisted outside, it is straight within, that is his pride. Propped against pillows, a pencil in his trembling
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"No, no, no!" Ananya cried out. She slammed the 'Back' button.
"My last poem, I have written it, In the depths of my heart, where the night's darkness Has its home, and the stars do not shine."