written by Rabindranath TagoreIf baby only wanted to, he could fly up to heaven this moment.
It is not for nothing that he does not leave us.
He loves to rest his head on mother's bosom, and cannot ever
bear to lose sight of her.
Baby know all manner of wise words, though few on earth can
understand their meaning.
It is not for nothing that he never wants to speak.
The one thing he wants is to learn mother's words from
mother's lips. That is why he looks so innocent.
Baby had a heap of gold and pearls, yet he came like a beggar
on to this earth.
It is not for nothing he came in such a disguise.
This dear little naked mendicant pretends to be utterly
helpless, so that he may beg for mother's wealth of love.
Baby was so free from every tie in the land of the tiny
crescent moon.
It was not for nothing he gave up his freedom.
He knows that there is room for endless joy in mother's little
corner of a heart, and it is sweeter far than liberty to be caught
and pressed in her dear arms.
Baby never knew how to cry. He dwelt in the land of perfect
bliss.
It is not for nothing he has chosen to shed tears.
Though with the smile of his dear face he draws mother's
yearning heart to him, yet his little cries over tiny troubles
weave the double bond of pity and love.
Rabindranath Tagore
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Wed 05.20.2009 at 06:27
Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning.
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written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Mon 05.04.2009 at 16:42
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own.
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Mon 04.20.2009 at 14:30
I came out alone on my way to my tryst.
But who is this that follows me in the silent dark?
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Sun 03.22.2009 at 23:44
The road is my wedded companion. She speaks to me under my feet all
day, she sings to my dreams all night.
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Fri 03.20.2009 at 00:03
When she passed by me with quick
steps, the end of her skirt touched
me.
From the unknown island of a
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Mon 02.23.2009 at 21:47
Things throng and laugh loud in the sky; the sands and dust dance
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