Hello friends Hope everybody is fine. I'm fine too. I am Fazle Rabbi Palash from Bangladesh.
This is my first post in this community. I would like to share with you some parts of Gitanjali written by Rabindranath Tagore through this committee. In 1913, Rabindranath Tagore received the Nobel Prize for Gitanjali. This is a wonderful book. The book is taken from the internet. I have a book written in Bengali. Let's read some parts of it together and we will understand its essence.
Gitanjali
Rabindranath Tagore
Translated by the Author from the original bengali
The India Society, London, 1912
GITANJALI
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and
again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it
melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to
utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still
thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.
When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break with pride; and I
look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.
All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet harmony—and my
adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight across the sea.
I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a singer I come before thy
presence.
I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet which I could never
aspire to reach.
Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who art my lord.
I know not how thou singest, my master! I ever listen in silent amazement.
The light of thy music illumines the world. The life breath of thy music runs from sky to
sky. The holy stream of thy music breaks through all stony obstacles and rushes on.
My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly struggles for a voice. I would speak, but
speech breaks not into song, and I cry out baffled. Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in
the endless meshes of thy music, my master!
Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing that thy living touch is
upon all my limbs.
I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing that thou art that truth
which has kindled the light of reason in my mind.
I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my love in flower, knowing
that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart.
And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it is thy power gives
me strength to act.
I ask for a moment’s indulgence to sit by thy side. The works that I have in hand I will
finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite, and my work becomes
an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and the bees are
plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing dedication of life in this silent
and overflowing leisure.
Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it droop and drop into the dust.
I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of pain from thy hand and
pluck it. I fear lest the day end before I am aware, and the time of offering go by.
Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this flower in thy service and
pluck it while there is time.
My song has put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and decoration. Ornaments
would mar our union; they would come between thee and me; their jingling would drown
thy whispers.
My poet’s vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet, I have sat down at thy
feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with
music.
The child who is decked with prince’s robes and who has jewelled chains round his neck
loses all pleasure in his play; his dress hampers him at every step.
In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with dust he keeps himself from the world, and is
afraid even to move.
Mother, it is no gain, thy bondage of finery, if it keep one shut off from the healthful dust
of the earth, if it rob one of the right of entrance to the great fair of common human life.
O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders! O beggar, to come beg at thy own
door!
Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all, and never look behind in regret.
Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath. It is unholy
—take not thy gifts through its unclean hands. Accept only what is offered by sacred love.
Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet where live the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
When I try to bow to thee, my obeisance cannot reach down to the depth where thy feet
rest among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes of the humble among the
poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
My heart can never find its way to where thou keepest company with the companionless
among the poorest, the lowliest, and the lost.
Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dost thou worship in this
lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not
before thee!
He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the pathmaker is breaking
stones. He is with them in sun and in shower, and his garment is covered with dust.
