人群是残酷的，而个人却是善良友爱的。——泰戈尔《飞鸟集》

人群是残酷的，而个人却是善良友爱的。

Men are cruel, but Man is kind.

在鸟翼上系上了黄金，这鸟便永不能再在天上翱翔了。

Set the bird’s wings with gold and it will never again soar in the sky.

权势夸耀着它的恶行，却被飘落的黄叶与飘过的云彩所讥笑。

The power that boasts of its mischiefs is laughed at by the yellow leaves that fall, and clouds that pass by.

他将武器奉若神明。

当他的武器战胜时，他自己却失败了。

He has made his weapons his gods.

When his weapons win he is defeated himself.

世人赞扬那些仇恨与杀戮，

但上帝感到蒙羞，匆忙地把他的记忆埋藏在绿草之下。

They hated and killed and men praised them,

but God in shame hastens to hide its memory under the green grass.

脚趾乃是舍弃了其过去的手指。

Toes are the fingers that have forsaken their past.

真理穿着“事实”的外衣而觉得行动不便。

在虚构的想象中，她却转动得很舒畅。

Truth in her dress finds facts too tight.

In fiction she moves with ease.

“大海啊，你在说什么呢？”

“是永恒的疑问。”

“天空啊，你要回答我什么呢？”

“是永恒的沉默。”

“What language is thine, O sea?”

“The language of eternal question.”

“What language is thy answer, O sky?”

“The language of eternal silence.”

杯中的水是闪耀着光辉的，海中的水却是深黑色的。

小理可以用文字来说清楚，大理却只有沉默。

The water in a vessel is sparkling; the water in the sea is dark.

The small truth has words that are clear; the great truth has great silence.

真理卷起狂风暴雨反对自己，那暴风雨播散了真理的种子而广为人知。

Truth raises against itself the storm that scatters its seeds broadcast.

真理仿佛与结论同来；

而结论却又孕育出了下一个真理。

Truth seems to come with its final word;

and the final word gives birth to its next.

飓风于无路之中寻求最短之路，不知在何处倏然终止它的搜寻。

The hurricane seeks the shortest road by the no-road, and suddenly ends its search in the Nowhere.

“我们是沙沙作响的叶片，以这声音回应着暴风雨，而你是谁啊，为何如此沉默？”

“我只是一朵花。”

“We, the rustling leaves, have a voice that answers the storms, but who are you, so silent?”

“I am a mere flower.”

我的主啊！让我真实地活着吧。如此，死亡于我也将成真。

Let me live truly, my Lord, so that death to me become true.