Recently I was gifted a copy of Gitajali, a book of poetry by Rabindranath Tagore, for which he was awarded The Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913. I like it so much that I have copied a few pieces from it to share on this site.
The child who is decked with prince’s robes and who has jewelled chains aroud his neck loses all pleasure in his play; his dress hampers him at every step.
In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with dust he keeps himself from the world, and is afraid even to move.
Mother, it is no gain, thy bondage of finery, if it keeps one shut from the healthful dust of the earth, if it rob one of the right of entrance to the great fair of common life.
Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dost thou worship in the dark corner of a temple with all doors shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee!
He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the pathmaker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in shower, an his garment is covered with dust. Put off thy holy mantle and even like him come down on the dusty soil!
Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be found? Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation, he is bound with us all for ever.
Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense! What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained? Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow.
My desires are many and my cry is pitiful, but ever didst thou save me by hard refusals; and this strong mercy has been wrought into my life through and through.
Day by day thou are making me worthy of the simple, great gifts that thou gavest me unasked – this sky and the light, this body and the life and the mind – saving me from perils of overmuch desire.
There are times when I languidly linger and times when I awaken and hurry in search of my goal; but cruelly thou hidest thyself from before me.
Day by day thou are making me worthy of thy full acceptance by refusing me ever and anon, saving me from perils of weak, uncertain desire.