Syair Rabindranath Tagore
O, kau pohon banyan bertajuk kusut
bertegak diri di bantaran tepian danau,
sudahkah kau lupakan dia: bocah kecil,
bagai burung-burung mungil yang pernah
bersarang di cabangmu, lalu pergilah ia?
Tidak ingatkah kau? Dia di bingkai jendela
mengagumi liuk akarmu menembus bumi?
Para perempuan datang ke danau, menimba
air, mengisi kendi-kendi, dan bayanganmu
- besar dan hitam - bergeliat di muka air
bagai tidur yang hendak dibangunkan.
Sinar matahari menari dari riak ke riak kecil,
serabut kecil, tak letih menenun tapestri.
Dua bebek berenangan, batas rumpun rumput,
di keteduhanmu, bocah duduk nerawang diam.
Dia rindu: jadi angin hembus di kelidan cabangmu,
ingin jadi bayang memanjang bersama lalu siang,
ingin jadi burung hinggap di ranting paling pucukmu,
ingin terapung bagai bebek, di sela rumput & bayang.
* Syair ke-35, The Crescent Moon.
THE BANYAN TREE
O you shaggy-headed banyan tree standing on the bank of the pond,
have you forgotten the little child, like the birds that have
nested in your branches and left you?
Do you not remember how he sat at the window and wondered at the
tangle of your roots that plunged underground?
The women would come to fill their jars in the pond, and your
huge black shadow would wriggle on the water like sleep
struggling to wake up.
Sunlight danced on the ripples like restless tiny shuttles
weaving golden tapestry.
Two ducks swam by the weedy margin above their shadows, and the
child would sit still and think.
He longed to be the wind and blow through your rustling branches,
to be your shadow and lengthen with the day on the water, to be a
bird and perch on your top-most twig, and to float like those
ducks among the weeds and shadows.
