My Song


This song of mine will wind its music around you,
my child, like the fond arms of love.

The song of mine will touch your forehead
like a kiss of blessing.


When you are alone it will sit by your side and
whisper in your ear, when you are in the crowd
it will fence you about with aloofness.


My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams,
it will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.


It will be like the faithful star overhead
when dark night is over your road.


My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,
and will carry your sight into the heart of things.


And when my voice is silenced in death,
my song will speak in your living heart.

Rabindranath Tagore

My Gift

I want to give you something, my child,
for we are drifting in the stream of the world.
Our lives will be carried apart,
and our love forgotten.
But I am not so foolish as to hope that
I could buy your heart with my gifts.

Young is your life, your path long, and
you drink the love we bring you at one draught
and turn and run away from us.
You have your play and your playmates.
What harm is there if you have no time
or thought for us.


We, indeed, have leisure enough in old age
to count the days that are past,
to cherish in our hearts what our
hands have lost for ever.
The river runs swift with a song,
breaking through all barriers.
But the mountain stays and remembers,
and follows her with his love.

Rabindranath Tagore

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 ripple like
restless tiny shuttles weaving golden tapestry.


Two ducks swam by the woody 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 legthen with the day on the water,
to be a bird and perch on your topmost twig,
andto float like those ducks among the weeds and shadows.

Rabindranath Tagore

The Child Angel

Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my child,
unflickering and pure, and delight them into silence.

They are cruel in their greed and their envy,
their words are like hidden knives thirsting for blood.


Go and stand amidst their scowling hearts, my child,
and let your gentle eyes fall upon them like the
forgiving peace of the evening over the strife of the day.


Let them see your face, my child, and thus know the
meaning of all things, let them love you and love each other.


Come and take your seat in the bosom of the limitless, my child.
At sunrise open and raise your heart like a blossoming flower,
and at sunset bend your head and in silence
complete the worship of the day.



Rabindranath Tagore

Benediction


Bless this little heart, this white soul that has
won the kiss of heaven for our earth.

He loves the light of the sun,
he loves the sight of his mother's face.


He has not learned to despise the dust,
and to hanker after gold.


Clasp him to your heart and bless him.
He has come into this land of an hundred crossroads.


I know not how he chose you from the crowd,
came to your door, and grasped your hand
to ask his way.


He will follow you, laughing and talking,
and not a doubt in his heart.


Keep his trust, lead him straight and bless him.


Lay your hand on his head, and pray
that though the waves underneath grow threatening,
yet the breath from above may come and
fill his sails and
waft him to the heaven of peace.

Rabindranath Tagore

The First Jasmines

AH, these jasmines, these white jasmines!
I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands
with these jasmines, these white jasmines.

I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;
I have heard the liquid murmur of the river
through the darkness of midnight;
Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of the road
in the lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil
to accept her lover.
Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines
that I held in my hands when I was a child.


Many a glad day has come in my life,
and I have laughed with merrymakers on festival nights.


On grey mornings of rain
I have crooned many an idle song.


I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of
BAKULAS woven by the hand of love.


Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh jasmines
that filled my hands when I was a child.

Rabindranath Tagore

The Flower School

"When storm-clouds rumble in the sky and
June showers come down,
The moist east wind comes marching over the heath
to blow its bagpipes amongst the bamboos.
The crowds of flowers come out of a sudden,
from nobody knows where,
and dance upon the grass in wild glee.

Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.
They do their lessons with doors shut,
and if they want to come out to play before it is time,
their master makes them stand in a corner.
When the rains come they have their holidays.

Branches clash together in the forest,
and the leaves rustle in the wild wind,
the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and
the flower children rush out i dresses of
pink, yellow and white.

Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky,
where the stars are.
Haven't you seen how eager they are to get there?
Don't you know why they are in such a hurry?
Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms,
they have their motheer as I have my own."

Rabindranath Tagore

Thank you for sharing these fabulous Tagores.
We must not forget the old masters, after all, they influenced and inspired our new poets.

Sue

Thank you for the Tagore poetry.
He is one of my favourites.

Sincerely,
Gisele

These poems are so beautiful dear Inda!!!




Einstein and Tagore from: http://www.escapefromwatchtower.com/indexsecond.html

quote:

Originally posted by Inda:
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 ripple like
restless tiny shuttles weaving golden tapestry.

Two ducks swam by the woody 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 legthen with the day on the water,
to be a bird and perch on your topmost twig,
andto float like those ducks among the weeds and shadows.

Rabindranath Tagore

I believe there are a lot of Banyan trees in Hawai'i eh? on the bank of the BIG POND!

Thank you so much for sharing these amazing verses, wow!

Love and light being, Teo

quote:

My Gift

I want to give you something, my child,
for we are drifting in the stream of the world.
Our lives will be carried apart,
and our love forgotten.
But I am not so foolish as to hope that
I could buy your heart with my gifts.

Young is your life, your path long, and
you drink the love we bring you at one draught
and turn and run away from us.
You have your play and your playmates.
What harm is there if you have no time
or thought for us.


We, indeed, have leisure enough in old age
to count the days that are past,
to cherish in our hearts what our
hands have lost for ever.
The river runs swift with a song,
breaking through all barriers.
But the mountain stays and remembers,
and follows her with his love.

Rabindranath Tagore

I am in tears for the melancholic beauty of this one. All are precious beyond limits.

Thank you dear Inda for sharing Master Tagore!

Love, Margherita

Thank you Sue, Gisele and Margherita.
The image is beautiful, as always.
***************************************

Gitanjali
Part 1

"Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This
frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with
fresh life.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and
hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.


At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in
joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.


Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill."

Rabindranath Tagore

Gitanjali
Part 2

"When thou commandest me to sing, it seems that my heart would break
with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.
All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet
harmony- and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight
across the sea.
I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a singer
I come before thy presence.
I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet which
I could never aspire to reach.
Drunk with joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who art
my Lord".

Rabindranath Tagore

Thank you everyone for the additional Tagore.
I love this poet.

Gisele

From 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)


It is time for meto go, mother; I am going.

When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn
you stretch your arms for your baby in the bed,
I shall say, "Baby is not there!"
- mother, I am going.

I shall become a delicate draught of air
and caress you; and I shall be ripples
in the water when you bathe;
and kiss you and kiss you again.

In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves
you will hear my whisper in your bed,
and my laughter will flashwith the lightning
through the open window into your room.

If you lie awake, thinking of your baby till late into the night,
I shall sing to you form the stars, "Sleep, mother, sleep."

On the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed,
and lie upon your bosom while you sleep.

I shall become a dream, and through the little opening
of your eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep;
and when you wake up and look round startled,
like a twinkling firefly I shall flit out into the darkness.

When, on the great festival of PUJA,
the neighbours' children come and play about the house,
I shall melt into the music of the flute
and throb in your heart all day.

Dear suntie will come with your PUJA presents and will ask,
"Where is our baby, sister? Mother you tell her softly,
"He is in the pupils of my eyes,
he is my body and my soul."

I missed this post as well. I don't know how this could be. maybe I was away.
Thank you for the lovely poems of Tagore.

Love,
Vicky



Beauty is in the ideal of perfect harmony
which is in the universal being;
truth the perfect comprehension of the universal mind.

R. Tagore

Ahhh, these poems are beyond beautiful, they are of eternal grace that touches the heart deeply.

Wonderful thread.

Love,
Margherita

Thank you Vicky and Margherita.

Love, Inda
**********

A gentle breeze
struck the pure white sail.

I never saw a river craft
moved along in such a way.

What priceless treasures does it bring?
From the shore of what distant sea
does it come?

My mind wants to drift.
it wants to cast on this shore
all wanting, all getting.

Behind me the rain comes down in torrents.
in the sky above the thunder rolls.

From a break in the clouds
rays of golden light
come and fall on my face.

O helmsman, who are you?
Whose joy-and-sorrow treasure are you?

Dwelling on this,
my mind is wonderstruck.

I wonder
what melody the instrument will play.

I wonder
what hymn I shall hear.

Rabindranath Tagore

Flower


Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it
droop and drop into the dust.

I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of
pain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest the day end before I am
aware, and the time of offering go by.

Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this flower
in thy service and pluck it while there is time.


Rabindranath Tagore

Chain Of Pearls


Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck
with my tears of sorrow.

The stars have wrought their anklets of light to deck thy feet,
but mine will hang upon thy breast.

Wealth and fame come from thee
and it is for thee to give or to withhold them.
But this my sorrow is absolutely mine own,
and when I bring it to thee as my offering
thou rewardest me with thy grace.

Rabindranath Tagore