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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.

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


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.

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From: GITANJALI – ‘Song Offerings’



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