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Present for chiensuegarcia

Hi chiensuegarcia,

These are present for you. I hope you will like these.

Thanks
Mehran

Written by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) Poem "Words of wisdom"(08)

Words of wisdom...


This is not a poem... but encouraging words by Rabindranath Tagore... a father speaks these words to his daughter as she stands on the threshold of change.. ready to leave his warm and safe nest and fly off to exciting, strange and unknown places..

“Do not be looking back, my child. Have no hesitations, but face bravely whatever fate may have in store for you. Go forward rejoicing, ready with all your strength to choose the Good from whatever may come before you. Surrender yourself fully to God, accepting Him as your only help, and then, even in the midst of loss and error, you will be able to follow the path of the Best. But if you remain divided, offering part of yourself to God and part elsewhere, then everything will become difficult. May God so deal with you that you will no longer have any need of the little help we can give you”
Edited by Virginia Fernandes.

Written by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) Poem "WHEN THE TWO SISTERS GO TO FETCH WATER"(07)

WHEN THE TWO SISTERS GO TO FETCH WATER

When the two sisters go to fetch water, they come to this spot and they smile.
They must be aware of somebody who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.

The two sisters whisper to each other when they pass this spot.
They must have guessed the secret of that somebody who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.

Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and water spills when they reach this spot.
They must have found out that somebody's heart is beating who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.

The two sisters glance at each other when they come to this spot, and they smile.
There is a laughter in their swift-stepping feet, which makes confusion in somebody's mind who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.


"When the two sisters go to fetch water" is reprinted from The Gardener. Rabindranath Tagore. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1913.

Written by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) Poem "WHEN I GO ALONE AT NIGHT"(06)

WHEN I GO ALONE AT NIGHT

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.


"When I go alone at night" is reprinted from The Gardener. Rabindranath Tagore. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1913.

Written by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) Poem "WE ARE TO PLAY THE GAME OF DEATH"(05)

WE ARE TO PLAY THE GAME OF DEATH

We are to play the game of death to-night, my bride and I.

The night is black, the clouds in the sky are capricious, and the waves are raving at sea.

We have left our bed of dreams, flung open the door and come out, my bride and I.

We sit upon a swing, and the storm winds give us a wild push from behind.

My bride starts up with fear and delight, she trembles and clings to my breast.

Long have I served her tenderly.

I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to shut out the rude light from her eyes.

I kissed her gently on her lips and whispered softly in her ears till she half swooned in languor.

She was lost in the endless mist of vague sweetness.

She answered not to my touch, my songs failed to arouse her.

To-night has come to us the call of the storm from the wild.

My bride has shivered and stood up, she has clasped my hand and come out.

Her hair is flying in the wind, her veil is fluttering, her garland rustles over her breast.

The push of death has swung her into life.

We are face to face and heart to heart, my bride and I.


"We are to play the game of death" is reprinted from The Gardener. Rabindranath Tagore. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1913.

Written by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) Poem "THE TAME BIRD WAS IN A CAGE"(04)

THE TAME BIRD WAS IN A CAGE

HE tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, "O my love, let us fly to the wood."
The cage bird whispers, "Come hither, let us both live in the cage."
Says the free bird, "Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?"
"Alas," cries the caged bird, "I should not know where to sit perched in the sky."

The free bird cries, "My darling, sing the songs of the woodlands."
The cage bird sings, "Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the learned."
The forest bird cries, "No, ah no! songs can never be taught."
The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands."

There love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my love!"
The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage."
The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead."


"The tame bird was in a cage" is reprinted from The Gardener. Rabindranath Tagore. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1913.

Written by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) Poem "IN THE DUSKY PATH OF A DREAM"(03)

IN THE DUSKY PATH OF A DREAM

In the dusky path of a dream I went to seek the love who was mine in a former life.

Her house stood at the end of a desolate street.
In the evening breeze her pet peacock sat drowsing on its perch, and the pigeons were silent in their corner.

She set her lamp down by the portal and stood before me.
She raised her large eyes to my face and mutely asked, "Are you well, my friend?"
I tried to answer, but our language had been lost and forgotten.

I thought and thought; our names would not come to my mind.
Tears shone in her eyes. She held up her right hand to me. I took it and stood silent.

Our lamp had flickered in the evening breeze and died.


"In the dusky path of a dream" is reprinted from The Gardener. Rabindranath Tagore. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1913.

Written by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) Poem "I CAST MY NET INTO THE SEA"(02)

I CAST MY NET INTO THE SEA

In the morning I cast my net into the sea.

I dragged up from the dark abyss things of strange aspect and strange beauty -- some shone like a smile, some glistened like tears, and some were flushed like the cheeks of a bride.

When with the day's burden I went home, my love was sitting in the garden idly tearing the leaves of a flower.

I hesitated for a moment, and then placed at her feet all that I had dragged up, and stood silent.

She glanced at them and said, "What strange things are these? I know not of what use they are!"

I bowed my head in shame and thought, "I have not fought for these, I did not buy them in the market; they are not fit gifts for her."

Then the whole night through I flung them one by one into the street.

In the morning travellers came; they picked them up and carried them into far countries.


"I cast my net into the sea" is reprinted from The Gardener. Rabindranath Tagore. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1913.

Written by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) Poem "I AM RESTLESS"(01)

I AM RESTLESS

AM restless. I am athirst for far-away things.
My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance.
O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.

I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Thy breath comes to me whispering an impossible hope.
Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own.
O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not the winged horse.

I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine takes shape in the blue of the sky!
O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in the house where I dwell alone!


"I am restless" is reprinted from The Gardener. Rabindranath Tagore. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1913.