Children have their play on the seashore of worlds. I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms, hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless. Light, oh where is the light? 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. His legacy survives in the form of paintings, sketches and doodles, hundreds of texts, and some two thousand songs; most of which continue to reverberate around the eastern part of India and throughout Bangladesh. I had gone a-begging from door to door in the village path, when thy golden chariot appeared in the distance like a gorgeous dream and I wondered who was this King of all kings! Chokher Bali was first published in 5 April 1903 from Kalkata. .
But in the darkness of night I find they break into my sacred shrine, strong and turbulent, and snatch with unholy greed the offerings from God's altar. Is it only thou who wouldst stand in the shadow silent and behind them all? I gave myself up for lost in the depth of a glad humiliation---in the shadow of a dim delight. Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness of this rhythm? This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. Let me sleep undisturbed even if my lord comes of a sudden to my door. We have no time to lose, and having no time we must scramble for a chances. Day after day, O lord of my life, shall I stand before thee face to face.
Masters are many in your hall, and songs are sung there at all hours. At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut. Thus it is that thy joy in me is so full. I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of pain from thy hand and pluck it. 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.
Under thy great sky in solitude and silence, with humble heart shall I stand before thee face to face. Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! From now there shall be no fear left for me in this world, and thou shalt be victorious in all my strife. 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. And for this, thou who art the King of kings hast decked thyself in beauty to captivate my heart. O thou lord of all heavens, where would be thy love if I were not? I have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core of my heart, and around her have risen and fallen the growth and decay of my life. There is no day nor night, nor form nor colour, and never, never a word.
I fear lest the day end before I am aware, and the time of offering go by. In the meanwhile I smile and I sing all alone. When the warriors marched back again to their master's hall where did they hide their power? I stand under the golden canopy of thine evening sky and I lift my eager eyes to thy face. It was my part at this feast to play upon my instrument, and I have done all I could. I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet which I could never aspire to reach. Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense! The sleep that flits on baby's eyes---does anybody know from where it comes? I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. Thy sun and stars can never keep thee hidden from me for aye.
The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by. The speech of my heart will be carried on in murmurings of a song. In pleasure and in pain I stand not by the side of men, and thus stand by thee. Rabindranath Tagore is Bengali Writer, poet, Song Compser and Nobel owner for literature. Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes of the humble among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost. It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and desires, into sufferings and joy in human homes; and this it is that ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's 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 to 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. 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. A summons has come and I am ready for my journey. In pleasure and in pain I stand not by the side of men, and thus stand by thee. Ah, the light dances, my darling, at the centre of my life; the light strikes, my darling, the chords of my love; the sky opens, the wind runs wild, laughter passes over the earth. The squirrels come from the boughs and climb on to his knees and the birds alight upon his hands. We were neighbours for long, but I received more than I could give.
Where were their armour and their arms? I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet. Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles. When in the morning I looked upon the light I felt in a moment that I was no stranger in this world, that the inscrutable without name and form had taken me in its arms in the form of my own mother. If thou showest me not thy face, if thou leavest me wholly aside, I know not how I am to pass these long, rainy hours. The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.