It is my own ankle bracelets that make me shy.
When I stand on the lanai and listen to his footsteps, the leaves don't shake, and the river is still as a sword on the knee of a sleeping sentry.
It is my own heart that beats wildly, and I do not know how to calm it.
When my love comes and sits beside me, when my body trembles, and my eyelashes droop, and the night is deeper, and the wind blows the lamps out, and the clouds are veiled over the stars.
It is the treasure of my own breast that shines forth. I do not know how to cover it up.
30 beautiful poems by Rabindranath Tagore
2 If you are busy filling up your water bottle, come, come to my lake.
The water of the lake will gurgle and tell its secrets at your feet.
The sands are shadowed by the coming rain-clouds, which hang low over the green lines of the trees, like the thick hair on thy brow.
I am familiar with the rhythm of your footsteps, and they beat in my heart.
Come, come to my lake, if you must fill the water bottle.
If you want to sit back and let your water bottle float, come, come to my lake,
The grassy slopes are green, and the wildflowers are too many to count.
Your thoughts will fly from your dark eyes like birds from their nests.
Your veil will fall to your feet.
Come, if thou wilt sit idle, come to my lake.
If you want to leave your playfulness behind and jump into the water, come, come to my lake.
Leave your blue scarf on the shore; the blue water will cover you and cover you.
The waves will come and kiss your neck and whisper in your ear.
Come, if you want to jump in, come to my lake.
If you want to go mad and die, come to my lake.
It is cool and deep.
It is dark as a dreamless sleep.
In its depths night is day and song is silence.
Come, if you want to plunge into death, come to my lake.
3 I want nothing but to stand behind the trees in the forest.
Weariness still lingered on the eyes of the dawn, and dew sobbed in the air.
The lazy smell of wet grass hangs in the mist on the ground.
Under the banyan tree you milked the cow with creamy hands.
I stood stoically.
I did not utter a word. It was the hidden birds singing in the dense foliage.
The mango trees spread their blossoms along the village paths, and the bees came buzzing one by one.
By the pond, the door of the Shiva temple opens and the worshippers begin to chant.
You put the pitcher on your lap and milked it.
I stood with my empty bucket.
I did not come near you.
The sky woke up with the temple gong.
Street dust flew under the hooves of the driven cows.
Holding the gurgling water bottle around their waists, the women came from the river.
Your bracelets tinkle, and milk foams over the rim.
The morning light is fading and I have not come near you.
4 I was walking by the roadside, I don't know why, but I remembered that it was already noon, and the bamboo branches were rustling in the wind.
The shadows stretch out their arms and drag the feet of the light
The cuckoos are tired of singing.
I walk by the side of the road and I don't know why.
The shade of the low-hanging trees covers the cottages by the water. Someone was busy working, her kushion bracelet playing music in one corner.
I stood in front of the hut and I did not know why.
The path led through a field of mustard and several layers of mango trees.
It passed the village temple and the bazaar at the ferry.
I stopped in front of this hut, I don't know why.
Some years ago, on a windy day in March, spring whispered tiredly, and mango blossoms fell to the ground.
The waves jumped up and swept over the bronze vase that stood on the edge of the ferry steps.
I think the wind blew in March on this day, and I don't know why.
The shadows are deeper, the cows are back in the pen.
The sun was pale in the cold pastures, and the villagers were waiting by the river.
I went back slowly, I don't know why.
5 I ran like a musk deer in the shade of the forest, maddened by my own scent.
The night was the night of the middle of May, and the breeze was the breeze of the South.
I was lost, I wandered, I sought what I could not get, I got what I did not seek.
The image of my own desire came out of me and danced.
The glittering image flew by.
I tried to catch it, but it eluded me and drew me on
I sought what I could not get, and I got what I did not seek.
30 beautiful poems by Rabindranath Tagore
6 Hands in hands, eyes in eyes; thus began the record of our hearts.
It was a moonlit night in March; the air was perfumed with anemones; my flute was thrown on the ground, and your string of flowers was not woven.
The love between you and me is as simple as a song.
Your orange veil mesmerizes my eyes.
The jasmine wreath you wove for me made my heart tremble as if it was praised.
It's a game of give and take, hide and seek; some smiles, some shyness, some sweet useless resistance.
The love between you and me is as simple as a song.
There is no mystery beyond the present; there is no forcing that which cannot be done; there are no shadows behind the charm; there are no dark depths to explore.
The love between you and me is as simple as a song.
We did not step out of all words into everlasting silence; we did not raise our hands to the air in search of something other than hope.
We give, we take, and that is enough.
We have not crushed joy into dust to extract the wine of pain.
The love between you and me is as simple as a song.