Showing posts with label Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941). Show all posts

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 61

Rabindranath Tagore-The Gardener 61

Peace, my heart, let the time for
the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain
into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end
in the folding of the wings over the
Let the last touch of your hands be
gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a
moment, and say your last words in
I bow to you and hold up my lamp
to light you on your way.

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 64

Rabindranath Tagore-The Gardener 64

I spent my day on the scorching
hot dust of the road.
Now, in the cool of the evening,
I knock at the door of the inn.
It is deserted and in ruins.
A grim ashath tree spreads its
hungry clutching roots through the
gaping fissures of the walls.
Days have been when wayfarers
came here to wash their weary feet.
They spread their mats in the
courtyard in the dim light of the
early moon, and sat and talked of
strange lands.
They woke refreshed in the morning
when birds made them glad, and
friendly flowers nodded their heads
at them from the wayside.
But no lighted lamp awaited me
when I came here.
The black smudges of smoke left by
many a forgotten evening lamp stare,
like blind eyes, from the wall.
Fireflies flit in the bush near the
dried-up pond, and bamboo branches
fling their shadows on the grass-
grown path.
I am the guest of no one at the end
of my day.
The long night is before me, and I
am tired.

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 69

Rabindranath Tagore-The Gardener 69

I hunt for the golden stag.
You may smile, my friends, but I
pursue the vision that eludes me.
I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless lands, because I am
hunting for the golden stag.
You come and buy in the market
and go back to your homes laden with
goods, but the spell of the homeless
winds has touched me I know not when
and where.
I have no care in my heart; all my
belongings I have left far behind me.
I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless lands--because I am
hunting for the golden stag.

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 68

Rabindranath Tagore-The Gardener 68

None lives for ever, brother, and
nothing lasts for long. Keep that in
mind and rejoice.
Our life is not the one old burden,
our path is not the one long
One sole poet has not to sing one
aged song.
The flower fades and dies; but he
who wears the flower has not to
mourn for it for ever.
Brother, keep that in mind and
There must come a full pause to
weave perfection into music.
Life droops toward its sunset to be
drowned in the golden shadows.
Love must be called from its play
to drink sorrow and be borne to the
heaven of tears.
Brother, keep that in min and
We hasten to gather our flowers lest
they are plundered by the passing
It quickens our blood and brightens
our eyes to snatch kisses that would
vanish if we delayed.
Our life is eager, our desires are keen,
for time tolls the bell of parting.
Brother, keep that in mind and
There is not time for us to clasp a
thing and crush it and fling it away to
the dust.
The hours trip rapidly away, hiding
their dreams in their skirts.
Our life is short; it yields but a
few days for love.
Were it for work and drudgery it
would be endlessly long.
Brother, keep that in mind and
Beauty is sweet to us, because she
dances to the same fleeting tune with
our lives.
Knowledge is precious to us, because
we shall never have time to
complete it.
All is done and finished in the eternal
But earth's flowers of illusion are
kept eternally fresh by death.
Brother, keep that in mind and

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 79

Rabindranath Tagore-The Gardener 79

I often wonder where lie hidden
the boundaries of recognition between
man and the beast whose heart knows
no spoken language.
Through what primal paradise in a
remote morning of creation ran the
simple path by which their hearts
visited each other.
Those marks of their constant tread
have not been effaced though their
kinship has been long forgotten.
Yet suddenly in some wordless
music the dim memory wakes up
and the beast gazes into the man's
face with a tender trust, and the
man looks down into its eyes with
amused affection.
It seems that the two friends meet
masked, and vaguely know each other
through the disguise.