Poems in this topic
Emotions and Feelings
Rabindranath Tagore
The Gardener IV: Ah Me
The Gardener IV: Ah Me
Ah me, why did they build my
house by the road to the market
town?
They moor their laden boats near
my trees.
They come and go and wander at
their will.
I sit and watch them; my time
wears on.
Turn them away I cannot. And
thus my days pass by.
Night and day their steps sound
by my door.
Vainly I cry, "I do not know
you."
Some of them are known to my
fingers, some to my nostrils, the
blood in my veins seems to know
them, and some are known to my
dreams.
Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and say, "Come to my house
whoever chooses. Yes, come."
In the morning the bell rings in the
temple.
They come with their baskets in
their hands.
Their feet are rosy red. The early
light of dawn is on their faces.
Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and I say, "Come to my garden
to gather flowers. Come hither."
In the mid-day the gong sounds
at the palace gate.
I know not why they leave their
work and linger near my hedge.
The flowers in their hair are pale
and faded; the notes are languid in
their flutes.
Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and say, "The shade is cool
under my trees. Come, friends."
At night the crickets chirp in the
woods.
Who is it that comes slowly to my
door and gently knocks?
I vaguely see the face, not a word
is spoken, the stillness of the sky is
all around.
Turn away my silent guest I
cannot. I look at the face through the
dark, and hours of dreams pass by.
Ah me, why did they build my
house by the road to the market
town?
They moor their laden boats near
my trees.
They come and go and wander at
their will.
I sit and watch them; my time
wears on.
Turn them away I cannot. And
thus my days pass by.
Night and day their steps sound
by my door.
Vainly I cry, "I do not know
you."
Some of them are known to my
fingers, some to my nostrils, the
blood in my veins seems to know
them, and some are known to my
dreams.
Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and say, "Come to my house
whoever chooses. Yes, come."
In the morning the bell rings in the
temple.
They come with their baskets in
their hands.
Their feet are rosy red. The early
light of dawn is on their faces.
Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and I say, "Come to my garden
to gather flowers. Come hither."
In the mid-day the gong sounds
at the palace gate.
I know not why they leave their
work and linger near my hedge.
The flowers in their hair are pale
and faded; the notes are languid in
their flutes.
Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and say, "The shade is cool
under my trees. Come, friends."
At night the crickets chirp in the
woods.
Who is it that comes slowly to my
door and gently knocks?
I vaguely see the face, not a word
is spoken, the stillness of the sky is
all around.
Turn away my silent guest I
cannot. I look at the face through the
dark, and hours of dreams pass by.
504
Rabindranath Tagore
Superior
Superior
Mother, your baby is silly! She is so absurdly childish!
She does not know the difference between the lights in the
streets and the stars.
When we play at eating with pebbles, she thinks they are real
food, and tries to put them into her mouth.
When I open a book before her and ask her to learn her a, b,
c, she tears the leaves with her hands and roars for joy at
nothing; this is your baby's way of doing her lesson.
When I shake my head at her in anger and scold her and call
her naughty, she laughs and thinks it great fun.
Everybody knows that father is away, but if in play I call
aloud "Father," she looks about her in excitement and thinks that
father is near.
When I hold my class with the donkeys that our washer man
brings to carry away the clothes and I warn her that I am the
schoolmaster, she will scream for no reason and call me dada.
Your baby wants to catch the moon. She is so funny; she calls
Ganesh Ganush.
Mother, your baby is silly! She is so absurdly childish!
Mother, your baby is silly! She is so absurdly childish!
She does not know the difference between the lights in the
streets and the stars.
When we play at eating with pebbles, she thinks they are real
food, and tries to put them into her mouth.
When I open a book before her and ask her to learn her a, b,
c, she tears the leaves with her hands and roars for joy at
nothing; this is your baby's way of doing her lesson.
When I shake my head at her in anger and scold her and call
her naughty, she laughs and thinks it great fun.
Everybody knows that father is away, but if in play I call
aloud "Father," she looks about her in excitement and thinks that
father is near.
When I hold my class with the donkeys that our washer man
brings to carry away the clothes and I warn her that I am the
schoolmaster, she will scream for no reason and call me dada.
Your baby wants to catch the moon. She is so funny; she calls
Ganesh Ganush.
Mother, your baby is silly! She is so absurdly childish!
561
Rabindranath Tagore
Stray Birds 71 - 80
Stray Birds 71 - 80
71
THE woodcutter's axe begged for its handle from the tree.
The tree gave it.
72
IN my solitude of heart
I feel the sigh of this widowed evening
veiled with mist and rain.
73
CHASTITY
is a wealth that comes from
abundance of love.
74
THE mist,
like love,
plays upon the heart of the hills
and brings out surprises of beauty.
75
WE read the world wrong
and say that it deceives us.
76
THE poet wind is out over the sea
and the forest to seek his own voice.
77
EVERY child
comes with the message
that God is not yet discouraged
of man.
78
THE grass seeks her crowd in the earth.
The tree seeks his solitude of the sky.
79
MAN barricades against himself.
80
YOUR voice, my friend,
wanders in my heart,
like the muffled sound of the sea
among these listening pines.
71
THE woodcutter's axe begged for its handle from the tree.
The tree gave it.
72
IN my solitude of heart
I feel the sigh of this widowed evening
veiled with mist and rain.
73
CHASTITY
is a wealth that comes from
abundance of love.
74
THE mist,
like love,
plays upon the heart of the hills
and brings out surprises of beauty.
75
WE read the world wrong
and say that it deceives us.
76
THE poet wind is out over the sea
and the forest to seek his own voice.
77
EVERY child
comes with the message
that God is not yet discouraged
of man.
78
THE grass seeks her crowd in the earth.
The tree seeks his solitude of the sky.
79
MAN barricades against himself.
80
YOUR voice, my friend,
wanders in my heart,
like the muffled sound of the sea
among these listening pines.
626
Rabindranath Tagore
Stray Birds 71 - 80
Stray Birds 71 - 80
71
THE woodcutter's axe begged for its handle from the tree.
The tree gave it.
72
IN my solitude of heart
I feel the sigh of this widowed evening
veiled with mist and rain.
73
CHASTITY
is a wealth that comes from
abundance of love.
74
THE mist,
like love,
plays upon the heart of the hills
and brings out surprises of beauty.
75
WE read the world wrong
and say that it deceives us.
76
THE poet wind is out over the sea
and the forest to seek his own voice.
77
EVERY child
comes with the message
that God is not yet discouraged
of man.
78
THE grass seeks her crowd in the earth.
The tree seeks his solitude of the sky.
79
MAN barricades against himself.
80
YOUR voice, my friend,
wanders in my heart,
like the muffled sound of the sea
among these listening pines.
71
THE woodcutter's axe begged for its handle from the tree.
The tree gave it.
72
IN my solitude of heart
I feel the sigh of this widowed evening
veiled with mist and rain.
73
CHASTITY
is a wealth that comes from
abundance of love.
74
THE mist,
like love,
plays upon the heart of the hills
and brings out surprises of beauty.
75
WE read the world wrong
and say that it deceives us.
76
THE poet wind is out over the sea
and the forest to seek his own voice.
77
EVERY child
comes with the message
that God is not yet discouraged
of man.
78
THE grass seeks her crowd in the earth.
The tree seeks his solitude of the sky.
79
MAN barricades against himself.
80
YOUR voice, my friend,
wanders in my heart,
like the muffled sound of the sea
among these listening pines.
626
Rabindranath Tagore
Stray Birds 11- 20
Stray Birds 11- 20
11
SOME unseen fingers, like idle breeze,
are playing upon my heart the music of the ripples.
12
'WHAT language is thine, O sea?'
'The language of eternal question.'
'What language is thy answer, O sky?
'The language of eternal silence.'
13
LISTEN,
my heart,
to the whispers of the world
with which it makes love to you.
14
THE mystery of creation
is like the darkness of night-it
is great.
Delusions of knowledge are like
the fog of the morning.
15
DO not seat your love upon a precipice because it is high.
16
I SIT at my window this morning
where the world like a passer-by stops for a moment,
nods to me and goes.
17
THESE little thoughts are the rustle of leaves;
they have their whisper of
joy in my mind.
18
WHAT you are you do not see,
what you see is your shadow.
19
MY wishes are fools, they shout across thy songs, my Master.
Let me but listen.
20
I CANNOT choose the best.
The best chooses me.
11
SOME unseen fingers, like idle breeze,
are playing upon my heart the music of the ripples.
12
'WHAT language is thine, O sea?'
'The language of eternal question.'
'What language is thy answer, O sky?
'The language of eternal silence.'
13
LISTEN,
my heart,
to the whispers of the world
with which it makes love to you.
14
THE mystery of creation
is like the darkness of night-it
is great.
Delusions of knowledge are like
the fog of the morning.
15
DO not seat your love upon a precipice because it is high.
16
I SIT at my window this morning
where the world like a passer-by stops for a moment,
nods to me and goes.
17
THESE little thoughts are the rustle of leaves;
they have their whisper of
joy in my mind.
18
WHAT you are you do not see,
what you see is your shadow.
19
MY wishes are fools, they shout across thy songs, my Master.
Let me but listen.
20
I CANNOT choose the best.
The best chooses me.
880
Rabindranath Tagore
Stray Birds 31 - 40
Stray Birds 31 - 40
31
THE trees come up to my window
like the yearning voice of the dumb earth.
32
HIS own mornings are new surprises to God.
33
LIFE finds its wealth by the claims of the world,
and its worth by the claims of love.
34
THE dry river-bed finds no thanks for its past.
35
THE bird wishes it were a cloud.
The cloud wishes it were a bird.
36
THE waterfall sings,
'I find my song,
when I find my freedom.'
37
I CANNOT tell why this heart languishes in silence.
It is for small needs it never asks,
or knows or remembers.
38
WOMAN,
when you move about in your household service
your limbs sing like a hill stream among its pebbles.
39
THE sun goes to cross the Western sea,
leaving its last salutation to the East.
40
DO not blame your food because you have no appetite.
31
THE trees come up to my window
like the yearning voice of the dumb earth.
32
HIS own mornings are new surprises to God.
33
LIFE finds its wealth by the claims of the world,
and its worth by the claims of love.
34
THE dry river-bed finds no thanks for its past.
35
THE bird wishes it were a cloud.
The cloud wishes it were a bird.
36
THE waterfall sings,
'I find my song,
when I find my freedom.'
37
I CANNOT tell why this heart languishes in silence.
It is for small needs it never asks,
or knows or remembers.
38
WOMAN,
when you move about in your household service
your limbs sing like a hill stream among its pebbles.
39
THE sun goes to cross the Western sea,
leaving its last salutation to the East.
40
DO not blame your food because you have no appetite.
569
Rabindranath Tagore
Still Heart
Still Heart
When I give up the helm
I know that the time has come for thee to take it.
What there is to do will be instantly done.
Vain is this struggle.
Then take away your hands
and silently put up with your defeat, my heart,
and think it your good fortune to sit perfectly still
where you are placed.
These my lamps are blown out at every little puff of wind,
and trying to light them I forget all else again and again.
But I shall be wise this time and wait in the dark,
spreading my mat on the floor;
and whenever it is thy pleasure, my lord,
come silently and take thy seat here.
When I give up the helm
I know that the time has come for thee to take it.
What there is to do will be instantly done.
Vain is this struggle.
Then take away your hands
and silently put up with your defeat, my heart,
and think it your good fortune to sit perfectly still
where you are placed.
These my lamps are blown out at every little puff of wind,
and trying to light them I forget all else again and again.
But I shall be wise this time and wait in the dark,
spreading my mat on the floor;
and whenever it is thy pleasure, my lord,
come silently and take thy seat here.
523
Rabindranath Tagore
Sleep-Stealer
Sleep-Stealer
Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
Clasping her pitcher to her waist mother went to fetch water
from the village near by.
It was noon. The children's playtime was over; the ducks in
the pond were silent.
The shepherd boy lay asleep under the shadow of the banyan
tree.
The crane stood grave and still in the swamp near the mango
grove.
In the meanwhile the Sleep-stealer came and, snatching sleep
from baby's eyes, flew away.
When mother came back she found baby travelling the room over
on all fours.
Who stole sleep from our baby's eyes? I must know. I must find
her and chain her up.
I must look into that dark cave, where, through boulders and
scowling stones, trickles a tiny stream.
I must search in the drowsy shade of the bakula grove, where
pigeons coo in their corner, and fairies' anklets tinkle in the
stillness of starry nights.
In the evening I will peep into the whispering silence of the
bamboo forest, where fireflies squander their light, and will ask
every creature I meet, "Can anybody tell me where the Sleep-stealer
lives?"
Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
Shouldn't I give her a good lesson if I could only catch her!
I would raid her nest and see where she hoards all her stolen
sleep.
I would plunder it all, and carry it home.
I would bind her two wings securely, set her on the bank of
the river, and then let her play at fishing with a reed among the
rushes and water-lilies.
When the marketing is over in the evening, and the village
children sit in their mothers' laps, then the night birds will
mockingly din her ears with:
"Whose sleep will you steal now?"
Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
Clasping her pitcher to her waist mother went to fetch water
from the village near by.
It was noon. The children's playtime was over; the ducks in
the pond were silent.
The shepherd boy lay asleep under the shadow of the banyan
tree.
The crane stood grave and still in the swamp near the mango
grove.
In the meanwhile the Sleep-stealer came and, snatching sleep
from baby's eyes, flew away.
When mother came back she found baby travelling the room over
on all fours.
Who stole sleep from our baby's eyes? I must know. I must find
her and chain her up.
I must look into that dark cave, where, through boulders and
scowling stones, trickles a tiny stream.
I must search in the drowsy shade of the bakula grove, where
pigeons coo in their corner, and fairies' anklets tinkle in the
stillness of starry nights.
In the evening I will peep into the whispering silence of the
bamboo forest, where fireflies squander their light, and will ask
every creature I meet, "Can anybody tell me where the Sleep-stealer
lives?"
Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
Shouldn't I give her a good lesson if I could only catch her!
I would raid her nest and see where she hoards all her stolen
sleep.
I would plunder it all, and carry it home.
I would bind her two wings securely, set her on the bank of
the river, and then let her play at fishing with a reed among the
rushes and water-lilies.
When the marketing is over in the evening, and the village
children sit in their mothers' laps, then the night birds will
mockingly din her ears with:
"Whose sleep will you steal now?"
553
Rabindranath Tagore
Sit Smiling
Sit Smiling
I boasted among men that I had known you.
They see your pictures in all works of mine.
They come and ask me, `Who is he?'
I know not how to answer them. I say, `Indeed, I cannot tell.'
They blame me and they go away in scorn.
And you sit there smiling.
I put my tales of you into lasting songs.
The secret gushes out from my heart.
They come and ask me, `Tell me all your meanings.'
I know not how to answer them.
I say, `Ah, who knows what they mean!'
They smile and go away in utter scorn.
And you sit there smiling.
I boasted among men that I had known you.
They see your pictures in all works of mine.
They come and ask me, `Who is he?'
I know not how to answer them. I say, `Indeed, I cannot tell.'
They blame me and they go away in scorn.
And you sit there smiling.
I put my tales of you into lasting songs.
The secret gushes out from my heart.
They come and ask me, `Tell me all your meanings.'
I know not how to answer them.
I say, `Ah, who knows what they mean!'
They smile and go away in utter scorn.
And you sit there smiling.
591
Rabindranath Tagore
Salutation
Salutation
In one salutation to thee, my God,
let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet.
Like a rain-cloud of July
hung low with its burden of unshed showers
let all my mind bend down at thy door in one salutation to thee.
Let all my songs gather together their diverse strains into a single current
and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation to thee.
Like a flock of homesick cranes flying night and day
back to their mountain nests
let all my life take its voyage to its eternal home
in one salutation to thee.
In one salutation to thee, my God,
let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet.
Like a rain-cloud of July
hung low with its burden of unshed showers
let all my mind bend down at thy door in one salutation to thee.
Let all my songs gather together their diverse strains into a single current
and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation to thee.
Like a flock of homesick cranes flying night and day
back to their mountain nests
let all my life take its voyage to its eternal home
in one salutation to thee.
494
Rabindranath Tagore
Senses
Senses
Deliverance is not for me in renunciation.
I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.
Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various
colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.
My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame
and place them before the altar of thy temple.
No, I will never shut the doors of my senses.
The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.
Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy,
and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.
Deliverance is not for me in renunciation.
I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.
Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various
colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.
My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame
and place them before the altar of thy temple.
No, I will never shut the doors of my senses.
The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.
Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy,
and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.
480
Rabindranath Tagore
Senses
Senses
Deliverance is not for me in renunciation.
I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.
Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various
colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.
My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame
and place them before the altar of thy temple.
No, I will never shut the doors of my senses.
The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.
Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy,
and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.
Deliverance is not for me in renunciation.
I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.
Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various
colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.
My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame
and place them before the altar of thy temple.
No, I will never shut the doors of my senses.
The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.
Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy,
and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.
480
Rabindranath Tagore
Roaming Cloud
Roaming Cloud
I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn
uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious!
Thy touch has not yet melted my vapor,
making me one with thy light,
and thus I count months and years separated from thee.
If this be thy wish and if this be thy play,
then take this fleeting emptiness of mine,
paint it with colors, gild it with gold,
float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders.
And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night,
I shall melt and vanish away in the dark,
or it may be in a smile of the white morning,
in a coolness of purity transparent.
I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn
uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious!
Thy touch has not yet melted my vapor,
making me one with thy light,
and thus I count months and years separated from thee.
If this be thy wish and if this be thy play,
then take this fleeting emptiness of mine,
paint it with colors, gild it with gold,
float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders.
And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night,
I shall melt and vanish away in the dark,
or it may be in a smile of the white morning,
in a coolness of purity transparent.
607
Rabindranath Tagore
Prisoner
Prisoner
`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'
`It was my master,' said the prisoner.
`I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power,
and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king.
When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord,
and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'
`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'
`It was I,' said the prisoner, `who forged this chain very carefully.
I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive
leaving me in a freedom undisturbed.
Thus night and day I worked at the chain
with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.
When at last the work was done
and the links were complete and unbreakable,
I found that it held me in its grip.'
`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'
`It was my master,' said the prisoner.
`I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power,
and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king.
When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord,
and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'
`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'
`It was I,' said the prisoner, `who forged this chain very carefully.
I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive
leaving me in a freedom undisturbed.
Thus night and day I worked at the chain
with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.
When at last the work was done
and the links were complete and unbreakable,
I found that it held me in its grip.'
604
Rabindranath Tagore
Poems On Life
Poems On Life
Life is given to us,
we earn it by giving it.
Let the dead have the immortality of fame,
but the living the immortality of love.
Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty
that can modulate their isolation into a
harmony with the whole.
Life, like a child, laughs,
shaking its rattle of death as it runs.
Life is given to us,
we earn it by giving it.
Let the dead have the immortality of fame,
but the living the immortality of love.
Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty
that can modulate their isolation into a
harmony with the whole.
Life, like a child, laughs,
shaking its rattle of death as it runs.
418
Rabindranath Tagore
Playthings
Playthings
Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the
morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning
with!"
Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.
I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.
With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my
strength over things I never can obtain.
In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am
playing a game.
Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the
morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning
with!"
Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.
I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.
With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my
strength over things I never can obtain.
In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am
playing a game.
652
Rabindranath Tagore
Playthings
Playthings
Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the
morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning
with!"
Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.
I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.
With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my
strength over things I never can obtain.
In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am
playing a game.
Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the
morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning
with!"
Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.
I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.
With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my
strength over things I never can obtain.
In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am
playing a game.
652
Rabindranath Tagore
Passing Breeze
Passing Breeze
Yes, I know, this is nothing but thy love,
O beloved of my heart---this golden light that dances upon the leaves,
these idle clouds sailing across the sky,
this passing breeze leaving its coolness upon my forehead.
The morning light has flooded my eyes---this is thy message to my heart.
Thy face is bent from above, thy eyes look down on my eyes,
and my heart has touched thy feet.
Yes, I know, this is nothing but thy love,
O beloved of my heart---this golden light that dances upon the leaves,
these idle clouds sailing across the sky,
this passing breeze leaving its coolness upon my forehead.
The morning light has flooded my eyes---this is thy message to my heart.
Thy face is bent from above, thy eyes look down on my eyes,
and my heart has touched thy feet.
508
Rabindranath Tagore
Paper Boats
Paper Boats
Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running
stream.
In bid black letters I write my name on them and the name of
the village where I live.
I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and
know who I am.
I load my little boats with shiuli flower from our garden, and
hope that these blooms of the dawn will be carried safely to land
in the night.
I launch my paper boats and look up into the sky and see the
little clouds setting thee white bulging sails.
I know not what playmate of mine in the sky sends them down
the air to race with my boats!
When night comes I bury my face in my arms and dream that my
paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars.
The fairies of sleep are sailing in them, and the lading ins
their baskets full of dreams.
Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running
stream.
In bid black letters I write my name on them and the name of
the village where I live.
I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and
know who I am.
I load my little boats with shiuli flower from our garden, and
hope that these blooms of the dawn will be carried safely to land
in the night.
I launch my paper boats and look up into the sky and see the
little clouds setting thee white bulging sails.
I know not what playmate of mine in the sky sends them down
the air to race with my boats!
When night comes I bury my face in my arms and dream that my
paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars.
The fairies of sleep are sailing in them, and the lading ins
their baskets full of dreams.
917
Rabindranath Tagore
Old And New
Old And New
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own.
Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.
I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter;
I forget that there abides the old in the new,
and that there also thou abidest.
Through birth and death, in this world or in others,
wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same,
the one companion of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.
When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut.
Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose
the bliss of the touch of the one
in the play of many.
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own.
Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.
I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter;
I forget that there abides the old in the new,
and that there also thou abidest.
Through birth and death, in this world or in others,
wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same,
the one companion of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.
When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut.
Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose
the bliss of the touch of the one
in the play of many.
536
Rabindranath Tagore
Old And New
Old And New
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own.
Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.
I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter;
I forget that there abides the old in the new,
and that there also thou abidest.
Through birth and death, in this world or in others,
wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same,
the one companion of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.
When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut.
Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose
the bliss of the touch of the one
in the play of many.
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own.
Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.
I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter;
I forget that there abides the old in the new,
and that there also thou abidest.
Through birth and death, in this world or in others,
wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same,
the one companion of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.
When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut.
Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose
the bliss of the touch of the one
in the play of many.
536
Rabindranath Tagore
My Polar Star
My Polar Star
I have made You the polar star of my
existence; never again can I lose my way in the
voyage of life.
Wherever I go, You are always there to
shower your benefience all around me. Your face
is ever present before my mind's eyes.
If I lose sight of You even for a moment, I
almost lose my mind.
Whenever my heart is about to go astray, just
a glance of You makes it feel ashamed of itself.
I have made You the polar star of my
existence; never again can I lose my way in the
voyage of life.
Wherever I go, You are always there to
shower your benefience all around me. Your face
is ever present before my mind's eyes.
If I lose sight of You even for a moment, I
almost lose my mind.
Whenever my heart is about to go astray, just
a glance of You makes it feel ashamed of itself.
538
Rabindranath Tagore
Maya
Maya
That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides,
thus casting colored shadows on thy radiance
---such is thy Maya.
Thou settest a barrier in thine own being
and then callest thy severed self in myriad notes.
This thy self-separation has taken body in me.
The poignant song is echoed through all the sky in many-coloued tears
and smiles, alarms and hopes; waves rise up and sink again,
dreams break and form.
In me is thy own defeat of self.
This screen that thou hast raised is painted with innumerable figures
with the brush of the night and the day.
Behind it thy seat is woven in wondrous mysteries of curves,
casting away all barren lines of straightness.
The great pageant of thee and me has overspread the sky.
With the tune of thee and me all the air is vibrant,
and all ages pass with the hiding and seeking of thee and me.
That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides,
thus casting colored shadows on thy radiance
---such is thy Maya.
Thou settest a barrier in thine own being
and then callest thy severed self in myriad notes.
This thy self-separation has taken body in me.
The poignant song is echoed through all the sky in many-coloued tears
and smiles, alarms and hopes; waves rise up and sink again,
dreams break and form.
In me is thy own defeat of self.
This screen that thou hast raised is painted with innumerable figures
with the brush of the night and the day.
Behind it thy seat is woven in wondrous mysteries of curves,
casting away all barren lines of straightness.
The great pageant of thee and me has overspread the sky.
With the tune of thee and me all the air is vibrant,
and all ages pass with the hiding and seeking of thee and me.
504
Rabindranath Tagore
My Dependence
My Dependence
I like to be dependent, and so for ever
with warmth and care of my mother
my father , to love, kiss and embrace
wear life happily in all their grace.
I like to be dependent, and so for ever
on my kith and kin, for they all shower
harsh and warm advices, complaints
full wondering ,true and info giants.
I like to be dependent, and so for ever
for my friends, chat and want me near
with domestic,family and romantic tips
colleagues as well , guide me work at risks.
I like to be dependent, and so for ever
for my neighbours too, envy at times
when at my rise of fortune like to hear
my daily steps , easy and odd things too.
I like to be dependent, and so for ever
with warmth and care of my mother
my father , to love, kiss and embrace
wear life happily in all their grace.
I like to be dependent, and so for ever
on my kith and kin, for they all shower
harsh and warm advices, complaints
full wondering ,true and info giants.
I like to be dependent, and so for ever
for my friends, chat and want me near
with domestic,family and romantic tips
colleagues as well , guide me work at risks.
I like to be dependent, and so for ever
for my neighbours too, envy at times
when at my rise of fortune like to hear
my daily steps , easy and odd things too.
523