11 – 20

sunflower

11

SOME unseen fingers, like idle breeze,

 are playing upon my heart the music of the ripples.

12

“WHAT language is thine, O sea?”

   “The language of eternal question.”

“What language is thy answer, O sky?

   “The language of eternal silence.”

13

LISTEN,

 my heart,

to the whispers of the world

with which it makes love to you.

14

THE mystery of creation

is like the darkness of night–

it is great.

Delusions of knowledge are like

 the fog of the morning.

15

DO not seat your love upon a precipice because it is high.

16

I SIT at my window this morning

where the world like a passer-by stops for a moment,

nods to me and goes.

17

THESE little thoughts are the rustle of leaves;

 they have their whisper of

 joy in my mind.

18

WHAT you are you do not see,

what you see is your shadow.

19

MY wishes are fools, they shout across thy songs, my Master.

Let me but listen.

20

I CANNOT choose the best.

The best chooses me.

NEXT Poems

From: Stray Birds

By Rabindranath Tagore

[translated from Bengali to English by the author]

New York: The Macmillan Company, 1916