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Top of Mountain


STRAY birds of summer come to my window

 to sing and fly away.

And yellow leaves of autumn,

which have no songs,

flutter and fall there with a sigh.


O TROUPE of little vagrants of the world,

leave your footprints in my words.


THE world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover.

It becomes small as one song,

as one kiss of the eternal.


IT is the tears of the earth

 that keep her smiles in bloom.


THE mighty desert is burning

for the love of a blade of grass

who shakes her head and laughs

and flies



IF you shed tears when you miss the sun,

you also miss the stars.


THE sands in your way beg for your song

and your movement,

dancing water.

Will you carry the burden of their lameness?


HER wistful face haunts my dreams

like the rain at night.


ONCE we dreamt that we were strangers.

We wake up to find that we were dear to each other.


SORROW is hushed into peace in my heart

 like the evening among the silent trees.

NEXT poems

From: Stray Birds

By Rabindranath Tagore

[translated from Bengali to English by the author]

New York: The Macmillan Company, 1916