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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

If it is not my portion to meet thee in this life then let me ever feel that I have missed thy sight---let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

As my days pass in the crowded market of this world and my hands grow full with the daily profits, let me ever feel that I have gained nothing---let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

When I sit by the roadside, tired and panting, when I spread my bed low in the dust, let me ever feel that the long journey is still before me---let me not forget a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

When my rooms have been decked out and the flutes sound and the laughter there is loud, let me ever feel that I have not invited thee to my house---let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

Song 80

I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious! Thy touch has not yet melted my vapour, making me one with thy light, and thus I count months and years separated from thee.

If this be thy wish and if this be thy play, then take this fleeting emptiness of mine, paint it with colours, gild it with gold, float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders.

And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night, I shall melt and vanish away in the dark, or it may be in a smile of the white morning, in a coolness of purity transparent. 

Song 81

On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. But it is never lost, my lord. Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.

Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts, buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.

I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and imagined all work had ceased. In the morning I woke up and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.