Home
| Meditation | Mystic Musings | Enlightenment | Counseling | Psychic World
Mother Earth | Therapies  | EBooks | Life of Masters | Links |   Quotes | Store | Stories | Zen
Osho | Gurdjieff | Krishnamurti | Rajneesh | Ramana | Ramakrishna | Shankara | Jesus | Buddha | Yoga

    


 

Tagore's Geetanjali

  1. Geetanjali 1
  2. Geetanjali 2
  3. Geetanjali 3
  4. Geetanjali 4
  5. Geetanjali 5
  6. Geetanjali 6
  7. Geetanjali 7
  8. Geetanjali 8
  9. Geetanjali 9
  10. Geetanjali 10
  11. Geetanjali 11
  12. Geetanjali 12
  13. Geetanjali 13
  14. Geetanjali 14
  15. Geetanjali 15
  16. Geetanjali 16
  17. Geetanjali 17
  18. Geetanjali 18
     
  19. Geetanjali 19
  20. Geetanjali 20
  21. Geetanjali 21
  22. Geetanjali 22
  23. Geetanjali 23
  24. Geetanjali 24
  25. Geetanjali 25
  26. Geetanjali 26
  27. Geetanjali 27
  28. Geetanjali 28
  29. Geetanjali 29
  30. Geetanjali 30
  31. Geetanjali 31
  32. Geetanjali 32
  33. Geetanjali 33
  34. Geetanjali 34
  35. Geetanjali 35
  36. Osho on Tagore
  37. Yeat on Gitanjali
 
Song 19

If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it. I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and its head bent low with patience.

The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.

Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds' nests, and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.

Song 20

On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying, and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.

Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.

That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to me that is was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion.

I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and that this perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.

Song 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?