POEMS: “Stray birds” by Rabindranath Tagore (verses 64 to 85 out of 326)
Thank the flame for its light, but do not forget the lampholder standing in the shade with constancy of patience.
Tiny grass, your steps are small, but you possess the earth under your tread.
The infant flower opens its bud and cries, “Dear World, please do not fade.”
God grows weary of great kingdoms, but never of little flowers.
Wrong cannot afford defeat but Right can.
“I give my whole water in joy,” sings the waterfall, “though little of it is enough for the thirsty.”
Where is the fountain that throws up these flowers in a ceaseless outbreak of ecstasy?
The woodcutter’s axe begged for its handle from the tree.
The tree gave it.
In my solitude of heart I feel the sigh of this widowed evening veiled with mist and rain.
Chastity is a wealth that comes from abundance of love.
The mist, like love, plays upon the heart of the hills and brings out surprises of beauty.
We read the world wrong and say that it deceives us.
The poet wind is out over the sea and the forest to seek his own voice.
Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man.
The grass seeks her crowd in the earth.
The tree seeks his solitude of the sky.
Man barricades against himself.
Your voice, my friend, wanders in my heart, like the muffled sound of the sea among these listening pines.
What is this unseen flame of darkness whose sparks are the stars?
Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves.
He who wants to do good knocks at the gate; he who loves finds the gate open.
In death the many becomes one; in life the one becomes many.
The artist is the lover of Nature, therefore he is her slave and her master.
Photo credit: Pinerest “Hyper-Colorful Mountains of the Landform Park – Zhangye Danxia, China”
Rainbow mountain-range in China