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.
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Sun 06.03.2007 at 20:04
I asked nothing, only stood at the
edge of the wood behind the tree.
Languor was still upon the eyes
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Tue 05.22.2007 at 09:39
In desperate hope I go and search for her
in all the corners of my room;
I find her not.
My house is small
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Sun 05.13.2007 at 06:44
Take back your coins, King's Councillor. I am of those women youRead poem...
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Fri 05.11.2007 at 22:13
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?'
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Thu 03.15.2007 at 14:14
That I want thee, only thee---let my heart repeat without end.
All desires that distract me, day and night,