GITANJALI,
Rabindranath Tagore
_______________________________________________
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.
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 the joy of singing I forget myself
and call thee friend who art my lord.
3
I know not how thou singest, my master! I
ever listen in silent amazement.
The light of thy music illumines the world.
The life breath of thy music runs from sky to
sky. The holy stream of thy music breaks
through all stony obstacles and rushes on.
My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly
struggles for a voice. I would speak, but
speech breaks not into song, and I cry out
baffled. Ah, thou hast made my heart captive
in the endless meshes of thy music, my
master!
4
Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my
body pure, knowing that thy living touch is
upon all my limbs.
I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from
my thoughts, knowing that thou art that
truth which has kindled the light of reason in
my mind.
I shall ever try to drive all evils away from
my heart and keep my love in flower,
knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost
shrine of my heart.
And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee
in my actions, knowing it is thy power gives
me strength to act.
5
I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy
side. The works that I have in hand I will
finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart
knows no rest nor respite, and my work
becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of
toil.
Today the summer has come at my window
with its sighs and murmurs; and the bees are
plying their minstrelsy at the court of the
flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with
thee, and to sing dedication of live in this
silent and overflowing leisure.
6
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.
7
My song has put off her adornments. She has
no pride of dress and decoration. Ornaments
would mar our union; they would come
between thee and me; their jingling would
drown thy whispers.
My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy
sight. O master poet, I have sat down at thy
feet. Only let me make my life simple and
straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill
with music.
8
The child who is decked with prince's robes
and who has jewelled chains round his neck
loses all pleasure in his play; his dress
hampers him at every step.
In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with
dust he keeps himself from the world, and is
afraid even to move.
Mother, it is no gain, thy bondage of finery,
if it keeps one shut off from the healthful
dust of the earth, if it rob one of the right of
entrance to the great fair of common human
life.
9
O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own
shoulders! O beggar, to come beg at thy own
door!
Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can
bear all, and never look behind in regret.
Thy desire at once puts out the light from the
lamp it touches with its breath. It is
unholy---take not thy gifts through its
unclean hands. Accept only what is offered
by sacred love.
10
Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet
where live the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
When I try to bow to thee, my obeisance
cannot reach down to the depth where thy
feet rest among the poorest, and lowliest, and
lost.
Pride can never approach to where thou
walkest in the clothes of the humble among
the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
My heart can never find its way to where
thou keepest company with the
companionless among the poorest, the
lowliest, and the lost.
11
Leave this chanting and singing and telling
of beads! Whom dost thou worship in this
lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all
shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not
before thee!
He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard
ground and where the pathmaker is
breaking stones. He is with them in sun and
in shower, and his garment is covered with
dust. Put of thy holy mantle and even like
him come down on the dusty soil!
Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be
found? Our master himself has joyfully taken
upon him the bonds of creation; he is bound
with us all for ever.
Come out of thy meditations and leave aside
thy flowers and incense! What harm is there
if thy clothes become tattered and stained?
Meet him and stand by him in toil and in
sweat of thy brow.
12
The time that my journey takes is long and
the way of it long.
I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of
light, and pursued my voyage through the
wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on
many a star and planet.
It is the most distant course that comes
nearest to thyself, and that training is the
most intricate which leads to the utter
simplicity of a tune.
The traveller has to knock at every alien
door to come to his own, and one has to
wander through all the outer worlds to reach
the innermost shrine at the end.
My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut
them and said `Here art thou!'
The question and the cry `Oh, where?' melt
into tears of a thousand streams and deluge
the world with the flood of the assurance `I
am!'
13
The song that I came to sing remains unsung
to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and in
unstringing my instrument.
The time has not come true, the words have
not been rightly set; only there is the agony
of wishing in my heart.
The blossom has not opened; only the wind
is sighing by.
I have not seen his face, nor have I listened
to his voice; only I have heard his gentle
footsteps from the road before my house.
The livelong day has passed in spreading his
seat on the floor; but the lamp has not been
lit and I cannot ask him into my house.
I live in the hope of meeting with him; but
this meeting is not yet.
14
My desires are many and my cry is pitiful,
but ever didst thou save me by hard refusals;
and this strong mercy has been wrought into
my life through and through.
Day by day thou art making me worthy of
the simple, great gifts that thou gavest to me
unasked---this sky and the light, this body
and the life and the mind---saving me from
perils of overmuch desire.
There are times when I languidly linger and
times when I awaken and hurry in search of
my goal; but cruelly thou hidest thyself from
before me.
Day by day thou art making me worthy of
thy full acceptance by refusing me ever and
anon, saving me from perils of weak,
uncertain desire.
15
I am here to sing thee songs. In this hall of
thine I have a corner seat.
In thy world I have no work to do; my
useless life can only break out in tunes
without a purpose.
When the hour strikes for thy silent worship
at the dark temple of midnight, command
me, my master, to stand before thee to sing.
When in the morning air the golden harp is
tuned, honour me, commanding my
presence.
16
I have had my invitation to this world's
festival, and thus my life has been blessed.
My eyes have seen and my ears have heard.
It was my part at this feast to play upon my
instrument, and I have done all I could.
Now, I ask, has the time come at last when I
may go in and see thy face and offer thee my
silent salutation?
17
I am only waiting for love to give myself up
at last into his hands. That is why it is so late
and why I have been guilty of such
omissions.
They come with their laws and their codes to
bind me fast; but I evade them ever, for I am
only waiting for love to give myself up at
last into his hands.
People blame me and call me heedless; I
doubt not they are right in their blame.
The market day is over and work is all done
for the busy. Those who came to call me in
vain have gone back in anger. I am only
waiting for love to give myself up at last into
his hands.
18
Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens. Ah,
love, why dost thou let me wait outside at
the door all alone?
In the busy moments of the noontide work I
am with the crowd, but on this dark lonely
day it is only for thee that I hope.
If thou showest me not thy face, if thou
leavest me wholly aside, I know not how I
am to pass these long, rainy hours.
I keep gazing on the far-away gloom of the
sky, and my heart wanders wailing with the
restless wind.
19
If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with
thy silence and endure it. I will keep still
and wait like the night with starry vigil and
its head bent low with patience.
The morning will surely come, the darkness
will vanish, and thy voice pour down in
golden streams breaking through the sky.
Then thy words will take wing in songs from
every one of my birds' nests, and thy
melodies will break forth in flowers in all my
forest groves.
20
On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas,
my mind was straying, and I knew it not.
My basket was empty and the flower
remained unheeded.
Only now and again a sadness fell upon me,
and I started up from my dream and felt a
sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the
south wind.
That vague sweetness made my heart ache
with longing and it seemed to me that is was
the eager breath of the summer seeking for
its completion.
I knew not then that it was so near, that it
was mine, and that this perfect sweetness
had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.
21
I must launch out my boat. The languid
hours pass by on the shore---Alas for me!
The spring has done its flowering and taken
leave. And now with the burden of faded
futile flowers I wait and linger.
The waves have become clamorous, and
upon the bank in the shady lane the yellow
leaves flutter and fall.
What emptiness do you gaze upon! Do you
not feel a thrill passing through the air with
the notes of the far-away song floating from
the other shore?
22
In the deep shadows of the rainy July, with
secret steps, thou walkest, silent as night,
eluding all watchers.
Today the morning has closed its eyes,
heedless of the insistent calls of the loud east
wind, and a thick veil has been drawn over
the ever-wakeful blue sky.
The woodlands have hushed their songs, and
doors are all shut at every house. Thou art
the solitary wayfarer in this deserted street.
Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the
gates are open in my house---do not pass by
like a dream.
23
Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy
journey of love, my friend? The sky groans
like one in despair.
I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I
open my door and look out on the darkness,
my friend!
I can see nothing before me. I wonder where
lies thy path!
By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by
what far edge of the frowning forest, through
what mazy depth of gloom art thou
threading thy course to come to me, my
friend?
24
If the day is done, if birds sing no more, if
the wind has flagged tired, then draw the
veil of darkness thick upon me, even as thou
hast wrapt the earth with the coverlet of
sleep and tenderly closed the petals of the
drooping lotus at dusk.
From the traveller, whose sack of provisions
is empty before the voyage is ended, whose
garment is torn and dustladen, whose
strength is exhausted, remove shame and
poverty, and renew his life like a flower
under the cover of thy kindly night.
25
In the night of weariness let me give myself
up to sleep without struggle, resting my trust
upon thee.
Let me not force my flagging spirit into a
poor preparation for thy worship.
It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon
the tired eyes of the day to renew its sight in
a fresher gladness of awakening.
26
He came and sat by my side but I woke not.
What a cursed sleep it was, O miserable me!
He came when the night was still; he had his
harp in his hands, and my dreams became
resonant with its melodies.
Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah,
why do I ever miss his sight whose breath
touches my sleep?
27
Light, oh where is the light? Kindle it with
the burning fire of desire!
There is the lamp but never a flicker of a
flame---is such thy fate, my heart? Ah, death
were better by far for thee!
Misery knocks at thy door, and her message
is that thy lord is wakeful, and he calls thee
to the love-tryst through the darkness of
night.
The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain
is ceaseless. I know not what this is that stirs
in me---I know not its meaning.
A moment's flash of lightning drags down a
deeper gloom on my sight, and my heart
gropes for the path to where the music of the
night calls me.
Light, oh where is the light! Kindle it with
the burning fire of desire! It thunders and the
wind rushes screaming through the void.
The night is black as a black stone. Let not
the hours pass by in the dark. Kindle the
lamp of love with thy life.
28
Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart
aches when I try to break them.
Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel
ashamed.
I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee,
and that thou art my best friend, but I have
not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that
fills my room
The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust
and death; I hate it, yet hug it in love.
My debts are large, my failures great, my
shame secret and heavy; yet when I come to
ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my
prayer be granted.
29
He whom I enclose with my name is
weeping in this dungeon. I am ever busy
building this wall all around; and as this wall
goes up into the sky day by day I lose sight
of my true being in its dark shadow.
I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it
with dust and sand lest a least hole should be
left in this name; and for all the care I take I
lose sight of my true being.
30
I came out alone on my way to my tryst. But
who is this that follows me in the silent dark?
I move aside to avoid his presence but I
escape him not. He makes the dust rise from
the earth with his swagger; he adds his loud
voice to every word that I utter.
He is my own little self, my lord, he knows
no shame; but I am ashamed to come to thy
door in his company.
31
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-hose the money due to my
king. When sleep overcame me I lay upon
the bad 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.'
32
By all means they try to hold me secure who
love me in this world. But it is otherwise
with thy love which is greater than theirs,
and thou keepest me free.
Lest I forget them they never venture to
leave me alone. But day passes by after day
and thou art not seen.
If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not
thee in my heart, thy love for me still waits
for my love.
33
When it was day they came into my house
and said, `We shall only take the smallest
room here.'
They said, `We shall help you in the worship
of your God and humbly accept only our own
share in his grace'; and then they took their
seat in a corner and they sat quiet and meek.
But in the darkness of night I find they break
into my sacred shrine, strong and turbulent,
and snatch with unholy greed the offerings
from God's altar.
34
Let only that little be left of me whereby I
may name thee my all.
Let only that little be left of my will whereby
I may feel thee on every side, and come to
thee in everything, and offer to thee my love
every moment.
Let only that little be left of me whereby I
may never hide thee.
Let only that little of my fetters be left
whereby I am bound with thy will, and thy
purpose is carried out in my life---and that is
the fetter of thy love.
35
Where the mind is without fear and the head
is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into
fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of
truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms
towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost
its way into the dreary desert sand of dead
habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into
ever-widening thought and action---
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let
my country awake.
36
This is my prayer to thee, my lord---strike,
strike at the root of penury in my heart.
Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys
and sorrows.
Give me the strength to make my love
fruitful in service.
Give me the strength never to disown the
poor or bend my knees before insolent
might.
Give me the strength to raise my mind high
above daily trifles.
And give me the strength to surrender my
strength to thy will with love.
37
I thought that my voyage had come to its
end at the last limit of my power,---that the
path before me was closed, that provisions
were exhausted and the time come to take
shelter in a silent obscurity.
But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart; and
where the old tracks are lost, new country is
revealed with its wonders.
38
That I want thee, only thee---let my heart
repeat without end. All desires that distract
me, day and night, are false and empty to
the core.
As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the
petition for light, even thus in the depth of
my unconsciousness rings the cry---`I want
thee, only thee'.
As the storm still seeks its end in peace when
it strikes against peace with all its might,
even thus my rebellion strikes against thy
love and still its cry is---`I want thee, only
thee'.
39
When the heart is hard and parched up,
come upon me with a shower of mercy.
When grace is lost from life, come with a
burst of song.
When tumultuous work raises its din on all
sides shutting me out from beyond, come to
me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and
rest.
When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut
up in a corner, break open the door, my
king, and come with the ceremony of a king.
When desire blinds the mind with delusion
and dust, O thou holy one, thou wakeful,
come with thy light and thy thunder.
40
The rain has held back for days and days,
my God, in my arid heart. The horizon is
fiercely naked---not the thinnest cover of a
soft cloud, not the vaguest hint of a distant
cool shower.
Send thy angry storm, dark with death, if it
is thy wish, and with lashes of lightning
startle the sky from end to end.
But call back, my lord, call back this
pervading silent heat, still and keen and
cruel, burning the heart with dire despair.
Let the cloud of grace bend low from above
like the tearful look of the mother on the day
of the father's wrath.
41
Where dost thou stand behind them all, my
lover, hiding thyself in the shadows? They
push thee and pass thee by on the dusty
road, taking thee for naught. I wait here
weary hours spreading my offerings for thee,
while passers-by come and take my flowers,
one by one, and my basket is nearly empty.
The morning time is past, and the noon. In
the shade of evening my eyes are drowsy
with sleep. Men going home glance at me
and smile and fill me with shame. I sit like a
beggar maid, drawing my skirt over my
face, and when they ask me, what it is I
want, I drop my eyes and answer them not.
Oh, how, indeed, could I tell them that for
thee I wait, and that thou hast promised to
come. How could I utter for shame that I
keep for my dowry this poverty. Ah, I hug
this pride in the secret of my heart.
I sit on the grass and gaze upon the sky and
dream of the sudden splendour of thy
coming---all the lights ablaze, golden
pennons flying over thy car, and they at the
roadside standing agape, when they see thee
come down from thy seat to raise me from
the dust, and set at thy side this ragged
beggar girl a-tremble with shame and pride,
like a creeper in a summer breeze.
But time glides on and still no sound of the
wheels of thy chariot. Many a procession
passes by with noise and shouts and glamour
of glory. Is it only thou who wouldst stand in
the shadow silent and behind them all? And
only I who would wait and weep and wear
out my heart in vain longing?
42
Early in the day it was whispered that we
should sail in a boat, only thou and I, and
never a soul in the world would know of this
our pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In that shoreless ocean, at thy silently
listening smile my songs would swell in
melodies, free as waves, free from all
bondage of words.
Is the time not come yet? Are there works
still to do? Lo, the evening has come down
upon the shore and in the fading light the
seabirds come flying to their nests.
Who knows when the chains will be off, and
the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset,
vanish into the night?
43
The day was when I did not keep myself in
readiness for thee; and entering my heart
unbidden even as one of the common crowd,
unknown to me, my king, thou didst press
the signet of eternity upon many a fleeting
moment of my life.
And today when by chance I light upon
them and see thy signature, I find they have
lain scattered in the dust mixed with the
memory of joys and sorrows of my trivial
days forgotten.
Thou didst not turn in contempt from my
childish play among dust, and the steps that
I heard in my playroom are the same that
are echoing from star to star.
44
This is my delight, thus to wait and watch at
the wayside where shadow chases light and
the rain comes in the wake of the summer.
Messengers, with tidings from unknown
skies, greet me and speed along the road.
My heart is glad within, and the breath of
the passing breeze is sweet.
From dawn till dusk I sit here before my
door, and I know that of a sudden the happy
moment will arrive when I shall see.
In the meanwhile I smile and I sing all alone.
In the meanwhile the air is filling with the
perfume of promise.
45
Have you not heard his silent steps? He
comes, comes, ever comes.
Every moment and every age, every day
and every night he comes, comes, ever
comes.
Many a song have I sung in many a mood of
mind, but all their notes have always
proclaimed, `He comes, comes, ever comes.'
In the fragrant days of sunny April through
the forest path he comes, comes, ever comes.
In the rainy gloom of July nights on the
thundering chariot of clouds he comes,
comes, ever comes.
In sorrow after sorrow it is his steps that press
upon my heart, and it is the golden touch of
his feet that makes my joy to shine.
46
I know not from what distant time thou art
ever coming nearer to meet me. Thy sun and
stars can never keep thee hidden from me
for aye.
In many a morning and eve thy footsteps
have been heard and thy messenger has
come within my heart and called me in
secret.
I know not only why today my life is all
astir, and a feeling of tremulous joy is
passing through my heart.
It is as if the time were come to wind up my
work, and I feel in the air a faint smell of thy
sweet presence.
47
The night is nearly spent waiting for him in
vain. I fear lest in the morning he suddenly
come to my door when I have fallen asleep
wearied out. Oh friends, leave the way open
to him---forbid him not.
If the sounds of his steps does not wake me,
do not try to rouse me, I pray. I wish not to
be called from my sleep by the clamorous
choir of birds, by the riot of wind at the
festival of morning light. Let me sleep
undisturbed even if my lord comes of a
sudden to my door.
Ah, my sleep, precious sleep, which only
waits for his touch to vanish. Ah, my closed
eyes that would open their lids only to the
light of his smile when he stands before me
like a dream emerging from darkness of
sleep.
Let him appear before my sight as the first of
all lights and all forms. The first thrill of joy
to my awakened soul let it come from his
glance. And let my return to myself be
immediate return to him.
48
The morning sea of silence broke into ripples
of bird songs; and the flowers were all merry
by the roadside; and the wealth of gold was
scattered through the rift of the clouds while
we busily went on our way and paid no
heed.
We sang no glad songs nor played; we went
not to the village for barter; we spoke not a
word nor smiled; we lingered not on the
way. We quickened our pave more and more
as the time sped by.
The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed
in the shade. Withered leaves danced and
whirled in the hot air of noon. The shepherd
boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of
the banyan tree, and I laid myself down by
the water and stretched my tired limbs on
the grass.
My companions laughed at me in scorn; they
held their heads high and hurried on; they
never looked back nor rested; they vanished
in the distant blue haze. They crossed many
meadows and hills, and passed through
strange, far-away countries. All honour to
you, heroic host of the interminable path!
Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise,
but found no response in me. I gave myself
up for lost in the depth of a glad
humiliation---in the shadow of a dim delight.
The repose of the sun-embroidered green
gloom slowly spread over my heart. I forgot
for what I had travelled, and I surrendered
my mind without struggle to the maze of
shadows and songs.
At last, when I woke from my slumber and
opened my eyes, I saw thee standing by me,
flooding my sleep with thy smile. How I had
feared that the path was long and
wearisome, and the struggle to reach thee
was hard!
49
You came down from your throne and stood
at my cottage door.
I was singing all alone in a corner, and the
melody caught your ear. You came down
and stood at my cottage door.
Masters are many in your hall, and songs are
sung there at all hours. But the simple carol
of this novice struck at your love. One
plaintive little strain mingled with the great
music of the world, and with a flower for a
prize you came down and stopped at my
cottage door.
50
I had gone a-begging from door to door in
the village path, when thy golden chariot
appeared in the distance like a gorgeous
dream and I wondered who was this King of
all kings!
My hopes rose high and methought my evil
days were at an end, and I stood waiting for
alms to be given unasked and for wealth
scattered on all sides in the dust.
The chariot stopped where I stood. Thy
glance fell on me and thou camest down with
a smile. I felt that the luck of my life had
come at last. Then of a sudden thou didst
hold out thy right hand and say `What hast
thou to give to me?'
Ah, what a kingly jest was it to open thy
palm to a beggar to beg! I was confused and
stood undecided, and then from my wallet I
slowly took out the least little grain of corn
and gave it to thee.
But how great my surprise when at the day's
end I emptied my bag on the floor to find a
least little gram of gold among the poor
heap. I bitterly wept and wished that I had
had the heart to give thee my all.
51
The night darkened. Our day's works had
been done. We thought that the last guest
had arrived for the night and the doors in
the village were all shut. Only some said the
king was to come. We laughed and said `No,
it cannot be!'
It seemed there were knocks at the door and
we said it was nothing but the wind. We put
out the lamps and lay down to sleep. Only
some said, `It is the messenger!' We laughed
and said `No, it must be the wind!'
There came a sound in the dead of the night.
We sleepily thought it was the distant
thunder. The earth shook, the walls rocked,
and it troubled us in our sleep. Only some
said it was the sound of wheels. We said in a
drowsy murmur, `No, it must be the
rumbling of clouds!'
The night was still dark when the drum
sounded. The voice came `Wake up! delay
not!' We pressed our hands on our hearts and
shuddered with fear. Some said, `Lo, there is
the king's flag!' We stood up on our feet and
cried `There is no time for delay!'
The king has come---but where are lights,
where are wreaths? Where is the throne to
seat him? Oh, shame! Oh utter shame!
Where is the hall, the decorations? Someone
has said, `Vain is this cry! Greet him with
empty hands, lead him into thy rooms all
bare!'
Open the doors, let the conch-shells be
sounded! in the depth of the night has come
the king of our dark, dreary house. The
thunder roars in the sky. The darkness
shudders with lightning. Bring out thy
tattered piece of mat and spread it in the
courtyard. With the storm has come of a
sudden our king of the fearful night.
52
I thought I should ask of thee---but I dared
not---the rose wreath thou hadst on thy neck.
Thus I waited for the morning, when thou
didst depart, to find a few fragments on the
bed. And like a beggar I searched in the
dawn only for a stray petal or two.
Ah me, what is it I find? What token left of
thy love? It is no flower, no spices, no vase of
perfumed water. It is thy mighty sword,
flashing as a flame, heavy as a bolt of
thunder. The young light of morning comes
through the window and spread itself upon
thy bed. The morning bird twitters and asks,
`Woman, what hast thou got?' No, it is no
flower, nor spices, nor vase of perfumed
water---it is thy dreadful sword.
I sit and muse in wonder, what gift is this of
thine. I can find no place to hide it. I am
ashamed to wear it, frail as I am, and it hurts
me when press it to my bosom. Yet shall I
bear in my heart this honour of the burden of
pain, this gift of thine.
From now there shall be no fear left for me in
this world, and thou shalt be victorious in all
my strife. Thou hast left death for my
companion and I shall crown him with my
life. Thy sword is with me to cut asunder my
bonds, and there shall be no fear left for me
in the world.
From now I leave off all petty decorations.
Lord of my heart, no more shall there be for
me waiting and weeping in corners, no more
coyness and sweetness of demeanour. Thou
hast given me thy sword for adornment. No
more doll's decorations for me!
53
Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with stars
and cunningly wrought in myriad-coloured
jewels. But more beautiful to me thy sword
with its curve of lightning like the outspread
wings of the divine bird of Vishnu, perfectly
poised in the angry red light of the sunset.
It quivers like the one last response of life in
ecstasy of pain at the final stroke of death; it
shines like the pure flame of being burning
up earthly sense with one fierce flash.
Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with starry
gems; but thy sword, O lord of thunder, is
wrought with uttermost beauty, terrible to
behold or think of.
54
I asked nothing from thee; I uttered not my
name to thine ear. When thou took'st thy
leave I stood silent. I was alone by the well
where the shadow of the tree fell aslant, and
the women had gone home with their brown
earthen pitchers full to the brim. They called
me and shouted, `Come with us, the
morning is wearing on to noon.' But I
languidly lingered awhile lost in the midst of
vague musings.
I heard not thy steps as thou camest. Thine
eyes were sad when they fell on me; thy
voice was tired as thou spokest low---`Ah, I
am a thirsty traveller.' I started up from my
day-dreams and poured water from my jar
on thy joined palms. The leaves rustled
overhead; the cuckoo sang from the unseen
dark, and perfume of babla flowers came
from the bend of the road.
I stood speechless with shame when my
name thou didst ask. Indeed, what had I
done for thee to keep me in remembrance?
But the memory that I could give water to
thee to allay thy thirst will cling to my heart
and enfold it in sweetness. The morning
hour is late, the bird sings in weary notes,
neem leaves rustle overhead and I sit and
think and think.
55
Languor is upon your heart and the slumber
is still on your eyes.
Has not the word come to you that the flower
is reigning in splendour among thorns?
Wake, oh awaken! let not the time pass in
vain!
At the end of the stony path, in the country
of virgin solitude, my friend is sitting all
alone. Deceive him not. Wake, oh awaken!
What if the sky pants and trembles with the
heat of the midday sun---what if the burning
sand spreads its mantle of thirst---
Is there no joy in the deep of your heart? At
every footfall of yours, will not the harp of
the road break out in sweet music of pain?
56
Thus it is that thy joy in me is so full. Thus it
is that thou hast come down to me. O thou
lord of all heavens, where would be thy love
if I were not?
Thou hast taken me as thy partner of all this
wealth. In my heart is the endless play of thy
delight. In my life thy will is ever taking
shape.
And for this, thou who art the King of kings
hast decked thyself in beauty to captivate my
heart. And for this thy love loses itself in the
love of thy lover, and there art thou seen in
the perfect union of two.
57
Light, my light, the world-filling light, the
eye-kissing light, heart-sweetening light!
Ah, the light dances, my darling, at the
centre of my life; the light strikes, my
darling, the chords of my love; the sky
opens, the wind runs wild, laughter passes
over the earth.
The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of
light. Lilies and jasmines surge up on the
crest of the waves of light.
The light is shattered into gold on every
cloud, my darling, and it scatters gems in
profusion.
Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling,
and gladness without measure. The heaven's
river has drowned its banks and the flood of
joy is abroad.
58
Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last
song---the joy that makes the earth flow over
in the riotous excess of the grass, the joy that
sets the twin brothers, life and death,
dancing over the wide world, the joy that
sweeps in with the tempest, shaking and
waking all life with laughter, the joy that sits
still with its tears on the open red lotus of
pain, and the joy that throws everything it
has upon the dust, and knows not a word.
59
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.
60
On the seashore of endless worlds children
meet. The infinite sky is motionless overhead
and the restless water is boisterous. On the
seashore of endless worlds the children meet
with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand and they
play with empty shells. With withered
leaves they weave their boats and smilingly
float them on the vast deep. Children have
their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not
how to cast nets. Pearl fishers dive for pearls,
merchants sail in their ships, while children
gather pebbles and scatter them again. they
seek not for hidden treasures, they know not
how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter and pale
gleams the smile of the sea beach.
Death-dealing waves sing meaningless
ballads to the children, even like a mother
while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea
plays with children, and pale gleams the
smile of the sea beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children
meet. Tempest roams in the pathless sky,
ships get wrecked in the trackless water,
death is abroad and children play. On the
seashore of endless worlds is the great
meeting of children.
61
The sleep that flits on baby's eyes---does
anybody know from where it comes? Yes,
there is a rumour that it has its dwelling
where, in the fairy village among shadows of
the forest dimly lit with glow-worms, there
hang two timid buds of enchantment. From
there it comes to kiss baby's eyes.
The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he
sleeps---does anybody know where it was
born? Yes, there is a rumour that a young
pale beam of a crescent moon touched the
edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there
the smile was first born in the dream of a
dew-washed morning---the smile that flickers
on baby's lips when he sleeps.
The sweet, soft freshness that blooms on
baby's limbs---does anybody know where it
was hidden so long? Yes, when the mother
was a young girl it lay pervading her heart
in tender and silent mystery of love---the
sweet, soft freshness that has bloomed on
baby's limbs.
62
When I bring to you coloured toys, my child,
I understand why there is such a play of
colours on clouds, on water, and why flowers
are painted in tints---when I give coloured
toys to you, my child.
When I sing to make you dance I truly now
why there is music in leaves, and why
waves send their chorus of voices to the heart
of the listening earth---when I sing to make
you dance.
When I bring sweet things to your greedy
hands I know why there is honey in the cup
of the flowers and why fruits are secretly
filled with sweet juice---when I bring sweet
things to your greedy hands.
When I kiss your face to make you smile, my
darling, I surely understand what pleasure
streams from the sky in morning light, and
what delight that is that is which the summer
breeze brings to my body---when I kiss you
to make you smile.
63
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.
64
On the slope of the desolate river among tall
grasses I asked her, `Maiden, where do you
go shading your lamp with your mantle? My
house is all dark and lonesome---lend me
your light!' she raised her dark eyes for a
moment and looked at my face through the
dusk. `I have come to the river,' she said, `to
float my lamp on the stream when the
daylight wanes in the west.' I stood alone
among tall grasses and watched the timid
flame of her lamp uselessly drifting in the
tide.
In the silence of gathering night I asked her,
`Maiden, your lights are all lit---then where
do you go with your lamp? My house is all
dark and lonesome---lend me your light.' She
raised her dark eyes on my face and stood
for a moment doubtful. `I have come,' she
said at last, `to dedicate my lamp to the sky.'
I stood and watched her light uselessly
burning in the void.
In the moonless gloom of midnight I ask her,
`Maiden, what is your quest, holding the
lamp near your heart? My house is all dark
and lonesome---lend me your light.' She
stopped for a minute and thought and gazed
at my face in the dark. `I have brought my
light,' she said, `to join the carnival of lamps.'
I stood and watched her little lamp uselessly
lost among lights.
65
What divine drink wouldst thou have, my
God, from this overflowing cup of my life?
My poet, is it thy delight to see thy creation
through my eyes and to stand at the portals
of my ears silently to listen to thine own
eternal harmony?
Thy world is weaving words in my mind
and thy joy is adding music to them. Thou
givest thyself to me in love and then feelest
thine own entire sweetness in me.
66
She who ever had remained in the depth of
my being, in the twilight of gleams and of
glimpses; she who never opened her veils in
the morning light, will be my last gift to
thee, my God, folded in my final song.
Words have wooed yet failed to win her;
persuasion has stretched to her its eager arms
in vain.
I have roamed from country to country
keeping her in the core of my heart, and
around her have risen and fallen the growth
and decay of my life.
Over my thoughts and actions, my slumbers
and dreams, she reigned yet dwelled alone
and apart.
many a man knocked at my door and asked
for her and turned away in despair.
There was none in the world who ever saw
her face to face, and she remained in her
loneliness waiting for thy recognition.
67
Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as
well.
O thou beautiful, there in the nest is thy love
that encloses the soul with colours and
sounds and odours.
There comes the morning with the golden
basket in her right hand bearing the wreath
of beauty, silently to crown the earth.
And there comes the evening over the lonely
meadows deserted by herds, through
trackless paths, carrying cool draughts of
peace in her golden pitcher from the western
ocean of rest.
But there, where spreads the infinite sky for
the soul to take her flight in, reigns the
stainless white radiance. There is no day nor
night, nor form nor colour, and never, never
a word.
68
Thy sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine
with arms outstretched and stands at my
door the livelong day to carry back to thy
feet clouds made of my tears and sighs and
songs.
With fond delight thou wrappest about thy
starry breast that mantle of misty cloud,
turning it into numberless shapes and folds
and colouring it with hues everchanging.
It is so light and so fleeting, tender and
tearful and dark, that is why thou lovest it, O
thou spotless and serene. And that is why it
may cover thy awful white light with its
pathetic shadows.
69
The same stream of life that runs through my
veins night and day runs through the world
and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through
the dust of the earth in numberless blades of
grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of
leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the
ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and
in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the
touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages
dancing in my blood this moment.
70
Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness
of this rhythm? to be tossed and lost and
broken in the whirl of this fearful joy?
All things rush on, they stop not, they look
not behind, no power can hold them back,
they rush on.
Keeping steps with that restless, rapid music,
seasons come dancing and pass
away---colours, tunes, and perfumes pour in
endless cascades in the abounding joy that
scatters and gives up and dies every
moment.
71
That I should make much of myself and turn
it on all sides, thus casting coloured 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-coloured 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.
72
He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my
being with his deep hidden touches.
He it is who puts his enchantment upon
these eyes and joyfully plays on the chords of
my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and
pain.
He it is who weaves the web of this {\it
maya\/} in evanescent hues of gold and
silver, blue and green, and lets peep out
through the folds his feet, at whose touch I
forget myself.
Days come and ages pass, and it is ever he
who moves my heart in many a name, in
many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and
of sorrow.
73
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.
74
The day is no more, the shadow is upon the
earth. It is time that I go to the stream to fill
my pitcher.
The evening air is eager with the sad music
of the water. Ah, it calls me out into the
dusk. In the lonely lane there is no
passer-by, the wind is up, the ripples are
rampant in the river.
I know not if I shall come back home. I know
not whom I shall chance to meet. There at the
fording in the little boat the unknown man
plays upon his lute.
75
Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs
and yet run back to thee undiminished.
The river has its everyday work to do and
hastens through fields and hamlets; yet its
incessant stream winds towards the washing
of thy feet.
The flower sweetens the air with its perfume;
yet its last service is to offer itself to thee.
Thy worship does not impoverish the world.
From the words of the poet men take what
meanings please them; yet their last
meaning points to thee.
76
Day after day, O lord of my life, shall I stand
before thee face to face. With folded hands, O
lord of all worlds, shall I stand before thee
face to face.
Under thy great sky in solitude and silence,
with humble heart shall I stand before thee
face to face.
In this laborious world of thine, tumultuous
with toil and with struggle, among hurrying
crowds shall I stand before thee face to face.
And when my work shall be done in this
world, O King of kings, alone and speechless
shall I stand before thee face to face.
77
I know thee as my God and stand apart---I do
not know thee as my own and come closer. I
know thee as my father and bow before thy
feet---I do not grasp thy hand as my friend's.
I stand not where thou comest down and
ownest thyself as mine, there to clasp thee to
my heart and take thee as my comrade.
Thou art the Brother amongst my brothers,
but I heed them not, I divide not my
earnings with them, thus sharing my all
with thee.
In pleasure and in pain I stand not by the
side of men, and thus stand by thee. I shrink
to give up my life, and thus do not plunge
into the great waters of life.
78
When the creation was new and all the stars
shone in their first splendour, the gods held
their assembly in the sky and sang `Oh, the
picture of perfection! the joy unalloyed!'
But one cried of a sudden---`It seems that
somewhere there is a break in the chain of
light and one of the stars has been lost.'
The golden string of their harp snapped,
their song stopped, and they cried in
dismay---`Yes, that lost star was the best, she
was the glory of all heavens!'
From that day the search is unceasing for
her, and the cry goes on from one to the
other that in her the world has lost its one
joy!
Only in the deepest silence of night the stars
smile and whisper among themselves---`Vain
is this seeking! unbroken perfection is over
all!'
79
If it is not my portion to meet thee in this life
then let me ever feel that I have missed thy
sight---let me not forget for a moment, let me
carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.
As my days pass in the crowded market of
this world and my hands grow full with the
daily profits, let me ever feel that I have
gained nothing---let me not forget for a
moment, let me carry the pangs of this
sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful
hours.
When I sit by the roadside, tired and
panting, when I spread my bed low in the
dust, let me ever feel that the long journey is
still before me---let me not forget a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my
dreams and in my wakeful hours.
When my rooms have been decked out and
the flutes sound and the laughter there is
loud, let me ever feel that I have not invited
thee to my house---let me not forget for a
moment, let me carry the pangs of this
sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful
hours.
80
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 vapour, 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 colours, 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.
81
On many an idle day have I grieved over
lost time. But it is never lost, my lord. Thou
hast taken every moment of my life in thine
own hands.
Hidden in the heart of things thou art
nourishing seeds into sprouts, buds into
blossoms, and ripening flowers into
fruitfulness.
I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and
imagined all work had ceased. In the
morning I woke up and found my garden
full with wonders of flowers.
82
Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There
is none to count thy minutes.
Days and nights pass and ages bloom and
fade like flowers. Thou knowest how to wait.
Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a
small wild flower.
We have no time to lose, and having no time
we must scramble for a chances. We are too
poor to be late.
And thus it is that time goes by while I give
it to every querulous man who claims it, and
thine altar is empty of all offerings to the last.
At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy
gate to be shut; but I find that yet there is
time.
83
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.
84
It is the pang of separation that spreads
throughout the world and gives birth to
shapes innumerable in the infinite sky.
It is this sorrow of separation that gazes in
silence all nights from star to star and
becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy
darkness of July.
It is this overspreading pain that deepens
into loves and desires, into sufferings and joy
in human homes; and this it is that ever
melts and flows in songs through my poet's
heart.
85
When the warriors came out first from their
master's hall, where had they hid their
power? Where were their armour and their
arms?
They looked poor and helpless, and the
arrows were showered upon them on the day
they came out from their master's hall.
When the warriors marched back again to
their master's hall where did they hide their
power?
They had dropped the sword and dropped
the bow and the arrow; peace was on their
foreheads, and they had left the fruits of their
life behind them on the day they marched
back again to their master's hall.
86
Death, thy servant, is at my door. He has
crossed the unknown sea and brought thy
call to my home.
The night is dark and my heart is
fearful---yet I will take up the lamp, open my
gates and bow to him my welcome. It is thy
messenger who stands at my door.
I will worship him placing at his feet the
treasure of my heart.
He will go back with his errand done,
leaving a dark shadow on my morning; and
in my desolate home only my forlorn self
will remain as my last offering to thee.
87
In desperate hope I go and search for her in
all the corners of my room; I find her not.
My house is small and what once has gone
from it can never be regained.
But infinite is thy mansion, my lord, and
seeking her I have to come to thy door.
I stand under the golden canopy of thine
evening sky and I lift my eager eyes to thy
face.
I have come to the brink of eternity from
which nothing can vanish---no hope, no
happiness, no vision of a face seen through
tears.
Oh, dip my emptied life into that ocean,
plunge it into the deepest fullness. Let me for
once feel that lost sweet touch in the allness
of the universe.
88
Deity of the ruined temple! The broken
strings of Vina sing no more your praise. The
bells in the evening proclaim not your time
of worship. The air is still and silent about
you.
In your desolate dwelling comes the vagrant
spring breeze. It brings the tidings of
flowers---the flowers that for your worship
are offered no more.
Your worshipper of old wanders ever
longing for favour still refused. In the
eventide, when fires and shadows mingle
with the gloom of dust, he wearily comes
back to the ruined temple with hunger in his
heart.
Many a festival day comes to you in silence,
deity of the ruined temple. Many a night of
worship goes away with lamp unlit.
Many new images are built by masters of
cunning art and carried to the holy stream of
oblivion when their time is come.
Only the deity of the ruined temple remains
unworshipped in deathless neglect.
89
No more noisy, loud words from me---such is
my master's will. Henceforth I deal in
whispers. The speech of my heart will be
carried on in murmurings of a song.
Men hasten to the King's market. All the
buyers and sellers are there. But I have my
untimely leave in the middle of the day, in
the thick of work.
Let then the flowers come out in my garden,
though it is not their time; and let the
midday bees strike up their lazy hum.
Full many an hour have I spent in the strife
of the good and the evil, but now it is the
pleasure of my playmate of the empty days
to draw my heart on to him; and I know not
why is this sudden call to what useless
inconsequence!
90
On the day when death will knock at thy
door what wilt thou offer to him?
Oh, I will set before my guest the full vessel
of my life---I will never let him go with
empty hands.
All the sweet vintage of all my autumn days
and summer nights, all the earnings and
gleanings of my busy life will I place before
him at the close of my days when death will
knock at my door.
91
O thou the last fulfilment of life, Death, my
death, come and whisper to me!
Day after day I have kept watch for thee; for
thee have I borne the joys and pangs of life.
All that I am, that I have, that I hope and all
my love have ever flowed towards thee in
depth of secrecy. One final glance from thine
eyes and my life will be ever thine own.
The flowers have been woven and the
garland is ready for the bridegroom. After
the wedding the bride shall leave her home
and meet her lord alone in the solitude of
night.
92
I know that the day will come when my
sight of this earth shall be lost, and life will
take its leave in silence, drawing the last
curtain over my eyes.
Yet stars will watch at night, and morning
rise as before, and hours heave like sea
waves casting up pleasures and pains.
When I think of this end of my moments, the
barrier of the moments breaks and I see by
the light of death thy world with its careless
treasures. Rare is its lowliest seat, rare is its
meanest of lives.
Things that I longed for in vain and things
that I got---let them pass. Let me but truly
possess the things that I ever spurned and
overlooked.
93
I have got my leave. Bid me farewell, my
brothers! I bow to you all and take my
departure.
Here I give back the keys of my door---and I
give up all claims to my house. I only ask for
last kind words from you.
We were neighbours for long, but I received
more than I could give. Now the day has
dawned and the lamp that lit my dark corner
is out. A summons has come and I am ready
for my journey.
94
At this time of my parting, wish me good
luck, my friends! The sky is flushed with the
dawn and my path lies beautiful.
Ask not what I have with me to take there. I
start on my journey with empty hands and
expectant heart.
I shall put on my wedding garland. Mine is
not the red-brown dress of the traveller, and
though there are dangers on the way I have
no fear in mind.
The evening star will come out when my
voyage is done and the plaintive notes of the
twilight melodies be struck up from the
King's gateway.
95
I was not aware of the moment when I first
crossed the threshold of this life.
What was the power that made me open out
into this vast mystery like a bud in the forest
at midnight!
When in the morning I looked upon the light
I felt in a moment that I was no stranger in
this world, that the inscrutable without name
and form had taken me in its arms in the
form of my own mother.
Even so, in death the same unknown will
appear as ever known to me. And because I
love this life, I know I shall love death as
well.
The child cries out when from the right
breast the mother takes it away, in the very
next moment to find in the left one its
consolation.
96
When I go from hence let this be my parting
word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable.
I have tasted of the hidden honey of this
lotus that expands on the ocean of light, and
thus am I blessed---let this be my parting
word.
In this playhouse of infinite forms I have had
my play and here have I caught sight of him
that is formless.
My whole body and my limbs have thrilled
with his touch who is beyond touch; and if
the end comes here, let it come---let this be
my parting word.
97
When my play was with thee I never
questioned who thou wert. I knew nor
shyness nor fear, my life was boisterous.
In the early morning thou wouldst call me
from my sleep like my own comrade and
lead me running from glade to glade.
On those days I never cared to know the
meaning of songs thou sangest to me. Only
my voice took up the tunes, and my heart
danced in their cadence.
Now, when the playtime is over, what is this
sudden sight that is come upon me? The
world with eyes bent upon thy feet stands in
awe with all its silent stars.
98
I will deck thee with trophies, garlands of
my defeat. It is never in my power to escape
unconquered.
I surely know my pride will go to the wall,
my life will burst its bonds in exceeding
pain, and my empty heart will sob out in
music like a hollow reed, and the stone will
melt in tears.
I surely know the hundred petals of a lotus
will not remain closed for ever and the secret
recess of its honey will be bared.
From the blue sky an eye shall gaze upon
me and summon me in silence. Nothing will
be left for me, nothing whatever, and utter
death shall I receive at thy feet.
99
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.
100
I dive down into the depth of the ocean of
forms, hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the
formless.
No more sailing from harbour to harbour
with this my weather-beaten boat. The days
are long passed when my sport was to be
tossed on waves.
And now I am eager to die into the
deathless.
Into the audience hall by the fathomless
abyss where swells up the music of toneless
strings I shall take this harp of my life.
I shall tune it to the notes of forever, and
when it has sobbed out its last utterance, lay
down my silent harp at the feet of the silent.
101
Ever in my life have I sought thee with my
songs. It was they who led me from door to
door, and with them have I felt about me,
searching and touching my world.
It was my songs that taught me all the
lessons I ever learnt; they showed me secret
paths, they brought before my sight many a
star on the horizon of my heart.
They guided me all the day long to the
mysteries of the country of pleasure and
pain, and, at last, to what palace gate have
the brought me in the evening at the end of
my journey?
102
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.
103
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.