Poems by Rabindranath Tagore

Poet, playwright, writer and philosopher, born monday may 6, 1861 in Calcutta (India), died thursday august 7, 1941 in Calcutta (India)
You can find this author also in Quotes & Aphorisms.

I am restless. I am athirst for far-away things.
My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance.
O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.
I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Thy breath comes to me whispering an impossible hope.
Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own.
O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not the winged horse.
I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine takes shape in the blue of the sky!
O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in the house where I dwell alone!
Rabindranath Tagore
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    I was not aware of the moment
    when I first crossed the threshold of this life.
    What was the power that made me open out into this vast mystery
    like a bud in the forest at midnight!
    When in the morning I looked upon the light
    I felt in a moment that I was no stranger in this world,
    that the inscrutable without name and form
    had taken me in its arms in the form of my own mother.
    Even so, in death the same unknown will appear as ever known to me.
    And because I love this life,
    I know I shall love death as well.
    The child cries out
    when from the right breast the mother takes it away,
    in the very next moment to find in the left one its consolation.
    Rabindranath Tagore
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      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.
      Rabindranath Tagore
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        Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
        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.
        Rabindranath Tagore
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          Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
          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.
          Rabindranath Tagore
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            You took my hand and drew me to your side,
            made me sit on the high seat before all men, till I became timid, unable to stir and walk my own way;
            doubting and debating at every step lest I should tread upon any thorn of their disfavour.
            I am freed at last!
            The blow has come, the drum of insult sounded, my seat is laid low in the dust.
            My paths are open before me.
            My wings are full of the desire of the sky.
            I go to join the shooting stars of midnight, to plunge into the profound shadow.
            I am like the storm-driven cloud of summer that, having cast off its crown of gold, hangs as a sword the thunderbolt upon a chain of lightning.
            In desperate joy I run upon the dusty path of the despised; I draw near to your final welcome.
            The child finds its mother when it leaves her womb.
            When I am parted from you, thrown out from your household, I am free to see your face.
            Rabindranath Tagore
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