When storm-clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down.
The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its
bagpipes among the bamboos.
Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows
where, and dance upon the grass in wild glee.
Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.
They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to
come out to play before it is time, their master makes them stand
in a corner.
When the rain come they have their holidays.
Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle
in the wild wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the
flower children rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white.
Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars
Haven't you see how eager they are to get there? Don't you
know why they are in such a hurry?
Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms; they
have their mother as I have my own.
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Thu 01.10.2008 at 01:23
You left me and went on your way.
I thought I should mourn for you
and set your solitary image in my
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Wed 01.09.2008 at 02:21
I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn
uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious!
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Mon 12.31.2007 at 16:49
Light, my light, the world-filling light,
the eye-kissing light,
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Thu 12.20.2007 at 04:20
The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.
written by Rabindranath Tagore, published on Sun 12.09.2007 at 12:22
On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time.
But it is never lost, my lord.