Rabindranath Tagore was a great poet and writer. He wrote many novels and books of poems and of which Gitanjali, Crescent Moon were very famous. Tagore was also the author of our National Anthem Jana Gana Mana. For his works, he was awarded the Nobel prize. Excerpts from his most famous book Gitanjali which won the Nobel Prize. Gitanjali has short poems. Page 1 of Gitanjali Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.       This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.       At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.       Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill. Page 3 of Gitanjali I know not how thou singest, my master! I ever listen in silent amazement.       The light of thy music illumines the world. The life breath of thy music runs from sky to sky. The holy stream of thy music breaks through all stony obstacles and rushes on.       My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly struggles for a voice. I would speak, but speech breaks not into song, and I cry out baffled. Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy music, my master!

Page 13 of Gitanjali The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.       I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.       The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.       The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by.       I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.       The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor; but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.       I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet.

Page 27 of Gitanjali Light, oh where is the light? Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!       There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame,--such thy fate, my heart! Ah, death were better by far for thee!       Misery knocks at thy door, and her message is that thy lord is wakeful, and he calls thee to the love-tryst through the darkness of nigh.       The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless. I know not what this is that stirs in me,--I know not its meaning.       A moment's flash of lightning drags down a deeper gloom on my sight, and my heart gropes for the path to where the music of the night calls me.       Light, of where is the light! Kindle it with the burning fire of desire! It thunders and the wind rushes screaming through the void. The night is black as a black stone. Let not the hours pass by in the dark. Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.

Page 31 of Gitanjali "Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?"       "It was my master," said the prisoner. "I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power, and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king. When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord, and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house."       "Prisoner, tell me who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?"       "It was I," said the prisoner, "who forged this chain very carefully. I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive leaving me in a freedom undisturbed.       Thus night and day I worked at the chain with huge fires and cruel hard strokes. When at last the work was done and links were complete and unbreakable, I found that it held me in its grip." Page 41 of Gitanjali Where dost thou stand behind them all, my lover, hiding thyself in the shadows? They push thee and pass thee by on the dusty road, taking thee for naught. I wait here weary hours spreading my offerings for thee, while passers by come and take my flowers, one by one, and m y basket is nearly empty.       The morning time is past, and the noon. In the shad of evening me eyes are drowsy with sleep. Men going home glance at me and smile and fill me with shame. I sit like a beggar maid, drawing my skirt over my face, and when they ask me, what it is I want, I drop my eyes and answer them not.       Oh, how, indeed, could I tell them that for thee I wait, and that thou hast promised to come. How could I utter for shame that I keep for my dowry this poverty. Ah, I hug this pride in the secret of my heart.       I sit on the grass and gaze upon the sky and dream of the sudden splendour of thy coming--all the lights ablaze, golden pennons flying over thy car, and they at the roadside standing agape, when they see thee come down from thy seat tot raise me from the dust, and set at thy side this ragged beggar girl a-tremble with shame and pride, like a creeper in a summer breeze.       But time glides on and still no sound of the wheels of thy chariot. Many a procession passes by with noise and shouts and glamour of glory. Is it only thou who wouldst stand in the shadow silent and behind them all? And only I who would wait and weep and wear out my heart in vain longing?

Page 48 of Gitanjali The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; and the flowers were all merry by the roadside; and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds while we busily went on our way and paid no heed.       We sang no glad songs nor played; we went not to the village for barter; we spoke not on the way. We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by.       The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade. Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon. The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree, and I laid myself down by the water and stretched my tired limbs on the grass.       My companions laughed at me in scorn; they held their heads high and hurried on; they never looked back nor rested; they vanished in the distant blue haze. They crossed many meadows and hills, and passed through strange, far-away countries. All honour to you, heroic host of the interminable path! Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise, but found no response in me. I gave myself up for lost in the depth of a glad humiliation--in the shadow of a dim delight.       The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom slowly spread over my heart. I forgot for what I had travelled, and I surrendered my mind without struggle to the maze of shadows and songs.       At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes, I saw thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile. How I had feared that the path was long and wearisome, and the struggle to reach thee was hard!

Page 60 of Gitanjali On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.       They build their houses with sand and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.       They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.       The sea surges up with laughter and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.       On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships get wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children. Page 79 of Gitanjali If it is not my portion to meet thee in this my 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 my 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 for 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.

Page 103 of Gitanjali In one salutation to thee, my God, let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet.       Like a rain-cloud of July hung low with its burden of unshed showers let all my mind bend down at thy door in one salutation to thee.       Let all my songs gather together their diverse strains into a single current and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation to thee.       Like a flock of homesick cranes flying night and day back to their mountain nests let all my life take its voyage to its eternal home in one salutation to thee. The bengali version of the poem can be viewed from here Full text of the book Gitanjali is available at http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/gnreddy/gitanjali.html Rabindranath Tagore : Chronology |Where the mind is without fear Ritesh Ruparel : Thoughts of the Dead body