“sing the song of the moment…” :: rabindranath tagore

VII

Sing the song of the moment in careless carols, in the transient light of the day;
Sing of the fleeting smiles that vanish and never look back;
Sing of the flowers that bloom and fade without regret.
Weave not in memory’s thread the days that would glide into nights.
To the guests that must go bid God-speed, and wipe away all traces of their steps.
Let the moments end in moments with their cargo of fugitive songs.

With both hands snap the fetters you made with your own heart chords;
Take to your breast with a smile what is easy and simple and near.
Today is the festival of phantoms that know not when they die.
Let your laughter flush in meaningless mirth like twinkles of light on the ripples;
Let your life lightly dance on the verge of Time like a dew on the tip of a leaf.
Strike in the chords of your harp the fitful murmurs of moments.

on the seashore :: rabindranath tagore

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the
   seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. With withered
   leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children
   have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl-fishers dive for
   pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them
   again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach. Death-
   dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while
   rocking her baby’s cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of
   the sea-beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless
   sky, ships are wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play.
   On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.

playthings :: rabindranath tagore

Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
Perhaps you glance at me and think, “What a stupid game to spoil your morning with!”
Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.
I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.
With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my strength over things I never can obtain.
In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am playing a game.

light :: rabindranath tagore

Light, my light, the world-filling light,
the eye-kissing light,
heart-sweetening light!

Ah, the light dances, my darling, at the center of my life;
the light strikes, my darling, the chords of my love;
the sky opens, the wind runs wild, laughter passes over the earth.

The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light.
Lilies and jasmines surge up on the crest of the waves of light.

The light is shattered into gold on every cloud, my darling,
and it scatters gems in profusion.

Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling,
and gladness without measure.
The heaven’s river has drowned its banks
and the flood of joy is abroad.