পৃথিবী কবিতা [ পুত্রপুট কাব্যগ্রন্থ ] – রবীন্দ্রনাথ ঠাকুর

English Translation:

Rabindranath Tagore’s poem “Prithibi” (The Earth) is a remarkable creation from his poetry collection Putroput. The poem presents a profound philosophy that contemplates human existence, the nature of the world, and spiritual connection. Here, the poet does not perceive the Earth merely as a habitable place, but envisions it as a kindred presence—an entity with which humanity shares an eternal and spiritual bond.

In this poem, the poet portrays Nature as a supreme nurturer—one who shelters humanity, guides it, and offers direction to the soul. The word “Prithibi” (Earth) is used symbolically—at times as a mother, at times as a refuge, and at others as the path toward self-realisation.

The language of the poem is simple, yet imbued with deep reflection. The imprint of Tagore’s philosophy is evident throughout—wherein one feels the unity of human life with Nature and the cosmos. “Prithibi” stands as a unique exemplar in Bengali literature, evoking in readers a sense of spiritual serenity and a radiant awareness of life.

The Earth
(From the collection “Putraput” – Rabindranath Tagore)

Today, O Earth, receive my salutation—
My final bow beneath the altar of the day’s last light.
O mighty, valiant bearer of life—conquered only by the brave,
In you the tender and the terrible are intertwined,
In you the feminine and the masculine merge and wrestle,
And mankind’s journey you shake in relentless contradiction.

Your right hand brims with nectar,
Your left hand holds the chalice too—
Your playground resounds with raucous laughter and divine mockery.
For the heroic, life you make harsh,
And greatness you grant only through hardship.

You make the worthy reward remote,
You pour no mercy on the merely merciful.

In every branch of yours lies veiled the struggle of each moment,
And from that struggle your fruit bears the crown of triumph.
Upon your waters, upon your lands—no battlefield grants reprieve.
Even at death’s edge, the soul declares its victory.

Your indifference gave rise to the triumphal arch of civilisation,
But if error slipped through, its toll was ruin.
At the dawn of your history, demons held sovereign sway—
Fierce, primal, barbarous and blind.
Their fingers thick, devoid of grace or craft—
Wielding mace and club, they battered ocean and peak alike.
Their mad fires and seething steam darkened the skies.
In the realm of matter, they reigned alone,
And hated life with blind envy.

Then came the gods, in a later age,
Chanting the mantras that subdued the demon’s might.
The arrogance of the inert was overcome—
And life-giving nature spread her verdant veil.

Dawn stood atop the eastern peaks,
Evening descended by the western seas with a pitcher of peace.

The demon bowed, his wrists in chains—
Yet that ancient savage clings still to your tale.
Amidst all order, he strikes sudden chaos,
Rising crooked from the dark trenches of your soul.
His madness courses through your veins.

The gods chant on—in sky, in air, in forest—
Their voices rising day and night
In solemn, stately resonance.
Yet from the depths of your breast, a half-tamed serpent
Rises again, fang raised—
And in its fury, you wound your own being,
You wreck your own creation.

At the foot of your throne—where good and evil dwell together—
To your tremendous and terrible beauty,
I offer the reverence of a life marked with scars.

Beneath your soil, secret stirs of vast life and vast death
I now touch and feel through flesh and soul.
Dust layered with the bodies of countless lost souls
From age upon age.
Here, I too shall leave a few handfuls of dust—
The final sum of all my joy and sorrow—
Laid within your voiceless, nameless, formless heap,
That consumes all memory and name alike.

O Earth—at once shackled and unmoving, and vanished into clouds—
O meditating Earth, hushed in the grandeur of mountain peaks,
O Earth, murmuring with the eternal ripple of deep-blue seas,
You are beautiful, bounteous—yet terrible when bare of grain.

On one side, your harvest fields bow heavy with ripe paddy—
Where each morning, the cheerful sun dries the dew
With his golden shawl.
As he sets behind the rippling dusk-coloured crops,
He whispers an unspoken benediction:
“I am content.”

But on the other side, in your waterless, fruitless wastes,
Among scattered bones of beasts,
Mirages dance their ghostly ballet.

In summer’s wrath, I have seen your storms
Rip the sky like black falcons—
The heavens roar like maned lions;
And with their lashing tails, they scatter boughs and leaves—
Until broken trees bow down, defeated in dust.
Thatched roofs fly like escaped convicts in the wind.

And yet, in spring’s breath,
Your southern breeze murmurs words of longing and union
Through the scent of mango blossom.
The moon spills over like wine from heaven,
And the forest’s whispers break their calm,
Crying aloud in a sudden surge of joy.

You are gentle, you are feral,
Ancient yet ever new.
From the first sacrificial fire of creation,
You emerged before the dawns were counted.

Across the crossroads of your spinning wheel
Lie the broken, forgotten relics of shattered histories.
With no cry, you layered the cast-offs of your creation
Upon countless tiers of oblivion.

O nourisher of life, you have cradled us
In tiny cages of fleeting time.
Within those frames lies all our play,
And all our glory’s end.

Today I bring no illusion to your feet.
For the garland of days and nights I have strung together—
I shall not ask you for immortality.
If, in some fleeting moment of your countless solar orbits,
I have earned a rightful seat,
If I have conquered one fertile corner of life
Through utmost sorrow—
Then touch my forehead with a single speck of your sacred soil.

Let that mark dissolve into the night
Where all signs are lost in the eternal unknown.

O indifferent Earth,
Before you utterly forget me—
Let me, today,
Lay down my final reverence at your relentless feet.