Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 38

My love, once upon a time your poet launched a great epic in his mind.

Alas, I was not careful, and it struck your ringing anklets and came to grief.

It broke up into scraps of songs and lay scattered at your feet.

All my cargo of the stories of old wars was tossed by the laughing waves and soaked in tears and sank.

You must make this loss good to me, my love.

If my claims to immortal fame after death are shattered, make me immortal while I live.

And I will not mourn for my loss nor blame you.

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 11

Come as you are; do not loiter over

your toilet.

If your braided hair has loosened if

the parting of your hair be not straight,

if the ribbons of your bodice be not

fastened, do not mind.

Come as you are; do not loiter over

your toilet.

Come, with quick steps over the

grass.

If the raddle come from your feet

because of the dew, of the rings of bells

upon your feet slacken, if pearls drop

out of your chain, do not mind.

Come, with quick steps over the

grass.

Do you see the clouds wrapping the

sky?

Flocks of cranes fly up from the

further river-bank and fitful gusts of

wind rush over the heath.

The anxious cattle run to their stalls

in the village.

Do you see the clouds wrapping the

sky?

In vain you light your toilet lamp

--it flickers and goes out in the

wind.

Who can know that your eyelids

have not been touched with lamp-

black? For your eyes are darker

than rain-clouds.

In vain you light your toilet lamp--

it goes out.

Come as you are; do not loiter over

your toilet.

If the wreath is not woven, who

cares; if the wrist-chain had not been

linked, let it be.

The sky is overcast with clouds--it

is late.

Come as you are; do not loiter over

your toilet.

Rabindranath Tagore – Unending Love

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times...

In life after life, in age after age, forever.

My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,

That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,

In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age old pain,

It's ancient tale of being apart or together.

As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,

Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.

You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.

At the heart of time, love of one for another.

We have played along side millions of lovers,

Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,

the distressful tears of farewell,

Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 4

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.

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 9

When I go alone at night to my

love-tryst, birds do not sing, the wind

does not stir, the houses on both sides

of the street stand silent.

It is my own anklets that grow loud

at every step and I am ashamed.

When I sit on my balcony and listen

for his footsteps, leaves do not rustle

on the trees, and the water is still in

the river like the sword on the knees

of a sentry fallen asleep.

It is my own heart that beats wildly

--I do not know how to quiet it.

When my love comes and sits by

my side, when my body trembles and

my eyelids droop, the night darkens,

the wind blows out the lamp, and the

clouds draw veils over the stars.

It is the jewel at my own breast

that shines and gives light. I do not

know how to hide it.