Stray Birds, Page 2

by Rabindranath Tagore

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~* But when morning dropped anchor at the rim of the East, the beggar in me leapt and cried: "Blessed am I that the deaf night denied me- that its coffer was empty." -Rabindranath Tagore ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Stray Birds, C-CXCIX
by Rabindranath Tagore

C

The cloud stood humbly in a corner of the sky. The morning crowned it with splendor.

CI

The dust receives insult and in return offers her flowers.

CII

Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on, for flowers will keep themselves blooming all your way.

CIII

Roots are the branches down in the earth. Branches are roots in the air.

CIV

The music of the far-away summer flutters around the autumn seeking its former nest.

CV

Do not insult your friend by lending him merits from your own pocket.

CVI

The touch of nameless days clings to my heart like mosses round the old tree.

CVII

The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original.

CVIII

God is ashamed when the prosperous boasts of his special favour.

CIX

I cast my own shadow upon my path, because I have a lamp that has not been lighted.

CX

Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamour of silence.

CXI

That which ends in exhaustion is death, but the perfect ending is in the endless.

CXII

The sun has his simple robe of light. The clouds are decked with gorgeousness.

CXIII

The hills are like shouts of children who raise their arms, trying to catch stars.

CXIV

The road is lonely in its crowd, for it is not loved.

CXV

The power that boasts of its mischiefs is laughed at by the yellow leaves that fall, and clouds that pass by.

CXVI

The earth hums to me to-day in the sun, like a woman at her spinning, some ballad of the ancient time in a forgotten tongue.

CXVII

The grass-blade is worthy of the great world where it grows.

CXVIII

Dream is a wife who must talk,
Sleep is a husband who silently suffers.

CXIX

The night kisses the fading day whispering to his ear, "I am death, your mother. I am to give you fresh birth."

CXX

I feel thy beauty, dark night, like that of the loved woman when she has put out the lamp.

CXXI

I carry in my world that flourishes the worlds that have failed.

CXXII

Dear friend, I feel the silence of your great thoughts of many a deepening eventide on this beach when I listen to these waves.

CXXIII

The bird thinks it is an act of kindness to give the fish a lift in the air.

CXXIV

"In the moon thou sendest thy love letters to me," said the night to the sun.
   "I leave my answers in tears upon the grass."

CXXV

The Great is a born child; when he dies he gives his great childhood to the world.

CXXVI

Not hammer-strokes, but dance of the water sings the pebbles into perfection.

CXXVII

Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave. The gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him.

CXXVIII

To be outspoken is easy when you do not wait to speak the complete truth.

CXXIX

Ask the Possible of the Impossible, "Where is your dwellilng-place?"
   "In the dreams of the impotent," comes the answer.

CXXX

If you shut your door to all errors truth will be shut out.

CXXXI

I hear some rustle of things behind my sadness of heart,- I cannot see them.

CXXXII

Leisure in its activity is work.
   The stillness of the sea stirs in waves.

CXXXIII

The leaf becomes flower when it loves. The flower becomes fruit when it worships.

CXXXIV

The roots below the earth claim no rewards for making the branches fruitful.

CXXXV

This rainy evening the wind is restless. I look at the swaying branches and ponder over the greatness of all things.

CXXXVI

Storm of midnight, like a giant child awakened in the untimely dark, has begun to play and shout.

CXXXVII

Thou raisest thy waves vainly to follow thy lover, O sea, thou lonely bride of the storm.

CXXXVIII

"I am ashamed of my emptiness," said the Word to the Work.
   ""I know how poor I am when I see you," said the Work to the Word.

CXXXIX

Time is the wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.

CXL

Truth in her dress finds facts too tight. In fiction she moves with ease.

CXLI

When I travelled to here and to there, I was tired of thee, O Road, but now when thou leadest me to everywhere I am wedded to thee in love.

CXLII

Let me think that there is one among those stars that guides my life through the dark unknown.

CXLIII

Woman, with the grace of your fingers you touched my things and order came out like music.

CXLIV

One sad voice has its nest among the ruins of the years. It sings to me in the night,- "I loved you."

CXLV

The flaming fire warns me off by its own glow. Save me from the dying embers hidden under ashes.

CXLVI

I have my stars in the sky, but oh for my little lamp unlit in my house.

CXLVII

The dust of the dead words cling to thee. Wash thy soul with silence.

CXLVIII

Gaps are left in life through which comes the sad music of death.

CXLIX

The world has opened its heart of light in the morning. Come out, my heart, with thy love to meet it.

CL

My thoughts shimmer with these shimmering leaves and my heart sings with the touch of this sunlight; my life is glad to be floating with all things into the blue of space, into the dark of time.

CLI

God's great power is in the gentle breeze, not in the storm.

CLII

This is a dream in which things are all loose and they oppress. I shall find them gathered in thee when I awake and shall be free.

CLIII

"Who is there to take up my duties?" asked the setting sun.
"I shall do what I can, my Master," said the earthen lamp.

CLIV

By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower.

CLV

Silence will carry your voice like the nest that holds the sleeping birds. CLVI

The Great walks with the Small without fear. The Middling keeps aloof.

CLVII

The night opens the flowers in secret and allows the day to get thanks.

CLVIII

Power takes as ingratitude the writhings of its victims.

CLIX

When we rejoice in our fullness, then we can part with our fruits with joy.

CLX

The raindrops kissed the earth and whispered,- "We are thy homesick children, mother, come back to thee from heaven."

CLXI

The cobweb pretends to catch dewdrops and catches flies.

CLXII

Love! when you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hand, I can see your face and know you as bliss.

CLXIII

"The learned say that your lights will one day be no more," said the firefly to the stars. The stars made no answer.

CLXIV

In the dusk of the evening the bird of some early dawn comes to the nest of my silence.

CLXV

Thoughts pass in my mind like flocks of ducks in the sky. I hear the voice of their wings.

CLXVI

The canal loves to think that rivers exist solely to supply it with water.

CLXVII

The world has kissed my soul with its pain, asking for its return in songs.

CLXVIII

That which oppresses me, is it my soul trying to come out in the open, or the soul of the world knocking at my heart for its entrance?

CLXIX

Thought feeds itself with its own words and grows.

CLXX

I have dipped the vessel of my heart into this silent hour; it has filled with love.

CLXXI

Either you have work or you have not. When you have to say, "Let us do something," then begins mischief.

CLXXII

The sunflower blushed to own the nameless flower as her kin. The sun rose and smiled on it, saying, "Are you well, my darling?"

CLXXIII

"Who drives me forward like fate?"
   "The Myself striding on my back."

CLXXIV

The clouds fill the water-cups of the river, hiding themselves in the distant hills.

CLXXV

I spill water from my water-jar as I walk on my way. Very little remains for my home.

CLXXVI

The water in a vessel is sparkling; the water in the sea is dark. The small truth has words that are clear; the great truth has great silence.

CLXXVII

Your smile was the flowers of your own fields, your talk was the rustle of your own mountain pines, but your heart was the woman that we all know.

CLXXVIII

It is the little things that I leave behind for my loved ones,- great things are for everyone.

CLXXIX

Woman, thou hast encircled the world's heart with the depth of thy taers as the sea has the earth.

CCLXXX

The sunshine greets me with a smile. The rain, his sad sister, talks to my heart.

CLXXXI

My flower of the day dropped its petals forgotten. In the evening it ripens into a golden fruit of memory.

CLXXXII

I am like the road in the night listening to the footfalls of its memories in silence.

CLXXXIII

The evening sky to me is like a window, and a lighted lamp, and a waiting behind it.

CLXXXIV

He who is too busy doing good finds no time to be good.

CLXXXV

I am the autumn cloud, empty of rain, see my fullness in the field of ripened rice.

CLXXXVI

They hated and killed and men praised them. But God in shame hastens to hide its memory under the green grass.

CLXXXVII

Toes are the fingers that have forsaken their past.

CLXXXVIII

Darkness travels towards light, but blindness towards death.

CLXXXIX

The pet dog suspects the universe for scheming to take its place.

CXC

Sit still, my heart, do not raise your dust. Let the world find its way to you.

CXCI

The bow whispers to the arrow before it speeds forth- "Your freedom is mine."

CXCII

Woman, in your laughter you have the music of the fountain of life.

CXCIII

A mind all logic is like a knife all blade. It makes the hand bleed that uses it.

CXCIV God loves man's lamp-lights better than his own great stars.
CXCV

This world is the world of wild storms kept tame with the music of beauty.

CXCVI

"My heart is like the golden casket of thy kiss," said the sunset cloud to the sun. CXCVII

By touching you may kill, by keeping away you may possess.

CXCVIII

The cricket's chirp and the patter of rain come to me through the dark, like the rustle of dreams from my past youth.

CXCIX

"I have lost my dewdrop," cries the flower to the morning sky that has lost all its stars.

Page 3: CC-CCXCIX

from The Collected Poems and Plays of Rabindranath Tagore, copyright 1949 by The MacMillan Company.

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