क्यों होते विह्वल इतने हैं? My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch; and if the end comes here, let it come - let this be my parting word. In many a morning and eve thy footsteps have been heard and thy messenger has come within my heart and called me in secret. The chariot stopped where I stood. Things that I longed for in vain and things that I got---let them pass. I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet. What have we in common with St. There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand bearing the wreath of beauty, silently to crown the earth.
The evening star will come out when my voyage is done and the plaintive notes of the twilight melodies be struck up from the King's gateway. कांडारी। किसके हास्य-रुदन का धन है? Many a festival day comes to you in silence, deity of the ruined temple. Has not the word come to you that the flower is reigning in splendour among thorns? We are too poor to be late. Here one can peep into the struggle of the great personality Baba Sahib Dr. The traveller in the read-brown clothes that he wears that dust may not show upon him, the girl searching in her bed for the petals fallen from the wreath of her royal lover, the servant or the bride awaiting the master's home-coming in the empty house, are images of the heart turning to God.
Where is this deliverance to be found? The light of thy music illumines the world. And let my return to myself be immediate return to him. I ever listen in silent amazement. Sensualism Following both poets within the Indian tradition, and also western poets such as Walt Whitman, Tagore writes very emphatically about sensuality and the enjoyment of the material world. The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. There was none in the world who ever saw her face to face, and she remained in her loneliness waiting for thy recognition. Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! I was singing all alone in a corner, and the melody caught your ear. नाम — रबीन्द्रनाथ टैगोर, रबीन्द्रनाथ ठाकुर जन्म — 7 मई 1861 जन्म स्थल — कोलकाता के जोड़ासाँको ठाकुरबाड़ी मृत्यु — 7 अगस्त 1941 शैक्षिक योग्यता — बंगाली , संस्कृत , अंग्रेजी ये भाषा और गणित , इतिहास , भूगोल आदि विषय उन्होंने सीखे पिता का नाम — देवेन्द्रनाथ माता का नाम — शारदादेवी This Rabindranath Tagore Poems in Hindi can make your life. You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount. The woodlands have hushed their songs, and doors are all shut at every house. अपना सतत बनाए।। तुम्हें रखूँ मैं कहीं ढक करके, इतना सा ही मन मेरा बचा रहे। प्राण-भरित हो लीला,नाथ! I am here to sing thee songs.
Mine is not the red-brown dress of the traveller, and though there are dangers on the way I have no fear in mind. Here I give back the keys of my door---and I give up all claims to my house. The child who is decked with prince's robes and who has jewelled chains round his neck loses all pleasure in his play; his dress hampers him at every step. Mine is not the red-brown dress of the traveller, and though there are dangers on the way I have no fear in mind. Bid me farewell, my brothers! My house is all dark and lonesome---lend me your light. Those who came to call me in vain have gone back in anger.
The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps - does anybody know where it was born? Many new images are built by masters of cunning art and carried to the holy stream of oblivion when their time is come. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children. The morning hour is late, the bird sings in weary notes, neem leaves rustle overhead and I sit and think and think. There at the fording in the little boat the unknown man plays upon his lute. 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 only ask for last kind words from you. 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. Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. On those days I never cared to know the meaning of songs thou sangest to me. The heaven's river has drowned its banks and the flood of joy is abroad. Lord of my heart, no more shall there be for me waiting and weeping in corners, no more coyness and sweetness of demeanour. I fear lest in the morning he suddenly come to my door when I have fallen asleep wearied out.
I surely know my pride will go to the wall, my life will burst its bonds in exceeding pain, and my empty heart will sob out in music like a hollow reed, and the stone will melt in tears. The river has its everyday work to do and hastens through fields and hamlets; yet its incessant stream winds towards the washing of thy feet. 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. It is as if the time were come to wind up my work, and I feel in the air a faint smell of thy sweet presence. Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? What emptiness do you gaze upon! Ah me, what is it I find? Ah, my closed eyes that would open their lids only to the light of his smile when he stands before me like a dream emerging from darkness of sleep. My poet, is it thy delight to see thy creation through my eyes and to stand at the portals of my ears silently to listen to thine own eternal harmony? Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Casey Reader started writing freelance in 2010. When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands I know why there is honey in the cup of the flowers and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice---when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.
I came out alone on my way to my tryst. The horizon is fiercely naked---not the thinnest cover of a soft cloud, not the vaguest hint of a distant cool shower. We thought that the last guest had arrived for the night and the doors in the village were all shut. Francis and to William Blake who have seemed so alien in our violent history. For all I know, so abundant and simple is this poetry, the new renaissance has been born in your country and I shall never know of it except by hearsay. Where is the throne to seat him? It is so light and so fleeting, tender and tearful and dark, that is why thou lovest it, O thou spotless and serene.
He will go back with his errand done, leaving a dark shadow on my morning; and in my desolate home only my forlorn self will remain as my last offering to thee. It is never in my power to escape unconquered. The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shady lane the yellow leaves flutter and fall. The flowers have been woven and the garland is ready for the bridegroom. This is my prayer to thee, my lord---strike, strike at the root of penury in my heart.