Gitanjali
21.
I must launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on the shore—Alas
for me!
The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. And now with the
burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.
The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shady lane
the yellow leaves flutter and fall.
What emptiness do you gaze upon! Do you not feel a thrill passing
through the air with the notes of the far-away song floating from the
other shore?
22.
In the deep shadows of the rainy July, with secret steps, thou walkest,
silent as night, eluding all watchers.
Today the morning has closed its eyes, heedless of the insistent calls
of the loud east wind, and a thick veil has been drawn over the
ever-wakeful blue sky.
The woodlands have hushed their songs, and doors are all shut at every
house. Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted street. Oh my
only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my house—do not
pass by like a dream.
23.
Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.
I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look out on
the darkness, my friend!
I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path!
By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the
frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading
thy course to come to me, my friend?
24.
If the day is done, if birds sing no more, if the wind has flagged
tired, then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me, even as thou hast
wrapt the earth with the coverlet of sleep and tenderly closed the
petals of the drooping lotus at dusk.
From the traveller, whose sack of provisions is empty before the voyage
is ended, whose garment is torn and dustladen, whose strength is
exhausted, remove shame and poverty, and renew his life like a flower
under the cover of thy kindly night.
25.
In the night of weariness let me give myself up to sleep without
struggle, resting my trust upon thee.
Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thy
worship.
It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the day
to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.
26.
He came and sat by my side but I woke not. What a cursed sleep it was,
O miserable me!
He came when the night was still; he had his harp in his hands, and my
dreams became resonant with its melodies.
Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight
whose breath touches my sleep?
27.
Light, oh where is the light? Kindle it with the burning fire of
desire!
There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame—is such thy fate, my
heart? Ah, death were better by far for thee!
Misery knocks at thy door, and her message is that thy lord is wakeful,
and he calls thee to the love-tryst through the darkness of night.
The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless. I know not
what this is that stirs in me—I know not its meaning.
A moment’s flash of lightning drags down a deeper gloom on my sight,
and my heart gropes for the path to where the music of the night calls
me.
Light, oh where is the light! Kindle it with the burning fire of
desire! It thunders and the wind rushes screaming through the void. The
night is black as a black stone. Let not the hours pass by in the dark.
Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.
28.
Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break
them.
Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed.
I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my
best friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that
fills my room.
The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate it, yet
hug it in love.
My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet
when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be
granted.
29.
He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon. I am ever
busy building this wall all around; and as this wall goes up into the
sky day by day I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.
I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand
lest a least hole should be left in this name; and for all the care I
take I lose sight of my true being.
30.
I came out alone on my way to my tryst. But who is this that follows me
in the silent dark?
I move aside to avoid his presence but I escape him not.
He makes the dust rise from the earth with his swagger; he adds his
loud voice to every word that I utter.
He is my own little self, my lord, he knows no shame; but I am ashamed
to come to thy door in his company.
31.
“Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?”
“It was my master,” said the prisoner. “I thought I could outdo
everybody in the world in wealth and power, and I amassed in my own
treasure-house the money due to my king. When sleep overcame me I lay
upon the bed that was for my lord, and on waking up I found I was a
prisoner in my own treasure-house.”
“Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?”
“It was I,” said the prisoner, “who forged this chain very carefully. I
thought my invincible power would hold the world captive leaving me in
a freedom undisturbed. Thus night and day I worked at the chain with
huge fires and cruel hard strokes. When at last the work was done and
the links were complete and unbreakable, I found that it held me in its
grip.”
32.
By all means they try to hold me secure who love me in this world. But
it is otherwise with thy love which is greater than theirs, and thou
keepest me free.
Lest I forget them they never venture to leave me alone. But day passes
by after day and thou art not seen.
If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart, thy
love for me still waits for my love.
33.
When it was day they came into my house and said, “We shall only take
the smallest room here.”
They said, “We shall help you in the worship of your God and humbly
accept only our own share in his grace”; and then they took their seat
in a corner and they sat quiet and meek.
But in the darkness of night I find they break into my sacred shrine,
strong and turbulent, and snatch with unholy greed the offerings from
God’s altar.
34.
Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name thee my all.
Let only that little be left of my will whereby I may feel thee on
every side, and come to thee in everything, and offer to thee my love
every moment.
Let only that little be left of me whereby I may never hide thee.
Let only that little of my fetters be left whereby I am bound with thy
will, and thy purpose is carried out in my life—and that is the fetter
of thy love.
35.
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow
domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary
desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and
action—
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
36.
This is my prayer to thee, my lord—strike, strike at the root of penury
in my heart.
Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.
Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.
Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before
insolent might.
Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.
And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with
love.
37.
I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my
power,—that the path before me was closed, that provisions were
exhausted and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.
But I find that thy will knows no end in me. And when old words die out
on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the
old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.
38.
That I want thee, only thee—let my heart repeat without end. All
desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the
core.
As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even
thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry—I want thee, only
thee.
As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace
with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and
still its cry is—I want thee, only thee.
39.
When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a shower of
mercy.
When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song.
When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from
beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest.
When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, break open
the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king.
When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one,
thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder.
40.
The rain has held back for days and days, my God, in my arid heart. The
horizon is fiercely naked—not the thinnest cover of a soft cloud, not
the vaguest hint of a distant cool shower.
Send thy angry storm, dark with death, if it is thy wish, and with
lashes of lightning startle the sky from end to end.
But call back, my lord, call back this pervading silent heat, still and
keen and cruel, burning the heart with dire despair.
Let the cloud of grace bend low from above like the tearful look of the
mother on the day of the father’s wrath.
41.
Where dost thou stand behind them all, my lover, hiding thyself in the
shadows? They push thee and pass thee by on the dusty road, taking thee
for naught. I wait here weary hours spreading my offerings for thee,
while passers-by come and take my flowers, one by one, and my basket is
nearly empty.
The morning time is past, and the noon. In the shade of evening my eyes
are drowsy with sleep. Men going home glance at me and smile and fill
me with shame. I sit like a beggar maid, drawing my skirt over my face,
and when they ask me, what it is I want, I drop my eyes and answer them
not.
Oh, how, indeed, could I tell them that for thee I wait, and that thou
hast promised to come. How could I utter for shame that I keep for my
dowry this poverty. Ah, I hug this pride in the secret of my heart.
I sit on the grass and gaze upon the sky and dream of the sudden
splendour of thy coming—all the lights ablaze, golden pennons flying
over thy car, and they at the roadside standing agape, when they see
thee come down from thy seat to raise me from the dust, and set at thy
side this ragged beggar girl a-tremble with shame and pride, like a
creeper in a summer breeze.
But time glides on and still no sound of the wheels of thy chariot.
Many a procession passes by with noise and shouts and glamour of glory.
Is it only thou who wouldst stand in the shadow silent and behind them
all? And only I who would wait and weep and wear out my heart in vain
longing?
42.
Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat, only
thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our
pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In that shoreless ocean, at thy silently listening smile my songs would
swell in melodies, free as waves, free from all bondage of words.