The Shepherd is one of the small poems by Harindranath Chattopadhyaya excerpted from Strange Journey published in 1936 which was brought out by Bharatha Shakthy Nilayam, Pondicherry. We do not know who the shepherd is, but a reading shows that no one else but the poet is himself a shepherd speaking through the lines. The soul is a shepherd. The soul of a mystic shepherd, how to comprehend? And the Shepherd of Shepherds is but a great mystic shepherd which we have not felt.

His soul is a shepherd leading the sheep of hours walking over the wide silences of the silvery scenery with the singing flowers. A strange shepherd going with the strange sheep is the thing. Where are the sheep heeding towards? God knows which but neither the poet can say nor we ourselves too can. Who is the mundane and mortal shepherd and who but the Shepherd Divine, the Shepherd of shepherds? And which pasture does the mortal shepherd lie grazing his flocks?

It may also be that the poet is thinking as per the scholar gypsy of Matthew Arnold. Leaving Oxford, where does he want to go away? As for what? In whose search? For peace of mind and soul or for being away from academic monotony and humdrum? For spiritual solace away from materialistic pleasures may also be it. But Harindranath wants to be a shepherd, wants to join the band as for his mystic learnings.

Finally, they stand all in rows turning silvery white into gold. The beauty of color is as such. Last but not the least, who is the Shepherd of shepherds?

The mystic scenery is a rare sight. Sometimes we do come across the shepherd with a flock of sheep  grazing them against a sky full of silvery clouds shining under the sunlight.

As the shepherd with the flocks of sheep grazing turns scenic and landscapic so is the case with reclusive thoughts and ideas bordering on the fringe of mysticism. The mystic soul takes flights to dwell it far. The shepherd-like presence and the silvery white color mystically adds beauty and magic to the poem.

The lonely sheep which he is driving will also mingle with the rows of them, reflecting from far as the silvery white shining lines. This one too will join the sane band and will turn one with their color hue looking silvery white and white clouds floating over.

My soul is a shepherd
Leading the sheep of hours
Silverly across wide silences
Strewn with singing flowers.

He is driving his lonely
Old grey-silver sheep
Towards the solitary fold
Of inward-shining sleep.

They are gathered slowly
Into the soundless fold
Where they are long rows of silver
Washed in hushed gold.