Don’t pamper, or that cloud will surely
Perch atop the crest.
Will it thaw, or budge an inch,
However much you request?
It won’t melt, oh no, it won’t
Totter from the peak
Frozen aloof in vain conceit
Will its feet on earth e’er rest!
For thirsting birds and ploughed fields
It won’t send a drop of rain
Once snowy white it turns alas
These triflings seem a pain.
It won’t sweat and get all wet,
For the mud and the slush of this earth ne’er fret,
Castles up in the air alone
It’ll build with endless zest.
Never pamper that cloud you meet
It will perch atop the crest.
Translation of a Bengali poem by Premendra Mitra