Posts tagged Rabindranath Tagore

Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh.
O troupe of little vagrants of the world, leave your footprints in my words
The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal.
It is the tears of the earth that keep her smiles in bloom.
The mighty desert is burning for the love of a blade of grass who shakes her head and laughs and flies away.

If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars.

- Rabindranath Tagore

(Source: confessionsforalily)

Pity, in place of love,
      That pettiest of gifts,
 Is but a sugar-coating over neglect.
      Any passerby can make a gift of it
          To a street beggar,
 Only to forget the moment the first corner is turned.
          I had not hoped for anything more that day.

 You left during the last watch of night.
      I had hoped you would say goodbye,
           Just say 'Adieu' before going away,
      What you had said another day,
               What I shall never hear again.
                  In their place, just that one word,
 Bound by the thin fabric of a little compassion
            Would even that have been too much for you to bear?

            When I first awoke from sleep
                     My heart fluttered with fear
              Lest the time had been over.
                I rushed out of bed.
        The distant church clock chimed half past twelve
                I sat waiting near the door of my room
                    Resting my head against it,
      Facing the porch through which you would come out.

 Even that tiniest of chances
    Was snatched away by fate from hapless me;
    I fell asleep
         Shortly before you left.
 Perhaps you cast a sidelong glance
             At my reclining body
      Like a broken boat left high and dry.
    Perhaps you walked away with care
              Lest you wake me up.
    Awaking with a start I knew at once
              That my vigil had been wasted
    I realised, what was to go went away in a moment,
         What was to stay behind stayed on
              For all time.

 Silence everywhere
    Like that of a birds' nest bereft of birds
         On the bough of a songless tree.
 With the lifeless light of the waning moon was now blended
         The pallor of dawn
    Spreading itself over the greyness of my empty life.
                   I walked towards your bedroom
                                      For no reason.
                       Outside the door
                Burnt a smoky lantern covered with soot,
             The porch smelt of the smouldering wick.
 Over the abandoned bed the flaps of the rolled-up mosquito-net
                     Fluttered a little in the breeze.
              Seen in the sky outside through the window
                          Was the morning star,
                     Witness of all sleepless people
                          Bereft of hope.

 Suddenly I found you had left behind by mistake
 Your gold-mounted ivory walking stick.
        If there were time, I thought,
        You might come back from the station to look for it,
        But not because
    You had not seen me before going away.

—Rabindranath Tagore

(Submitted by hysteron-proteron. Also, I’d like to point out the irony of a Tagore poem appearing after a Kipling poem because I’m sure I won’t be the only person to appreciate that.)

                                                   III.

         My soul is alight with your infinitude of stars. Your world has broken upon me like a flood. The flowers of your garden blossom in my body. The joy of life that is everywhere burns like an incense in my heart. And the breath of all things plays on my life as on a pipe of reeds.

—Rabindranath Tagore

Sing the song of the moment in careless carols, in the transient light of the day;
Sing of the fleeting smiles that vanish and never look back;
Sing of the flowers that bloom and fade without regret.
Weave not in memory’s thread the days that would glide into nights.
To the guests that must go bid God-speed, and wipe away all traces of their steps.
Let the moments end in moments with their cargo of fugitive songs.

With both hands snap the fetters you made with your own heart chords;
Take to your breast with a smile what is easy and simple and near.
Today is the festival of phantoms that know not when they die.         
Let your laughter flush in meaningless mirth like twinkles of light on the ripples;
Let your life lightly dance on the verge of Time like a dew on the tip of a leaf.
Strike in the chords of your harp the fitful murmurs of moments.

—Rabindranath Tagore