Rabindranath Tagore Quotes

Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt
at being told that it is a fragment
awaiting perfection.

Depth of friendship does not depend on length of acquaintance

Only in love are unity and duality not in conflict.

الفن يماثل الحب في كونه غير قابل للتفسير

Poems On Time

The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.

Time is a wealth of change,
but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time
like dew on the tip of a leaf.

"THE TAME BIRD WAS IN A CAGE

THE tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, "O my love, let us fly to the wood."
The cage bird whispers, "Come hither, let us both live in the cage."
Says the free bird, "Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?"
"Alas," cries the caged bird, "I should not know where to sit perched in the sky."

The free bird cries, "My darling, sing the songs of the woodlands."
The cage bird sings, "Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the learned."
The forest bird cries, "No, ah no! songs can never be taught."
The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands."

There love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my love!"
The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage."
The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead.

God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man's hands.

The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.

The young student sits with his head bent over his books, and his mind straying in youth's dreamland; where prose is prowling on the desk and poetry hiding in the heart.

إنني أتشوّف إلى أن أردد لك أعمق الكلمات التي
ينبغي أن أقولها لك ، ولكني لا أجرؤ على ذلك مخافة
أن تضحكي مني .
لهذا فإنني أضحك من نفسي ، وأنفض سري ،
دعابةً ومزاجاً .
وأستخف بألمي لئلا تستخفي به أنت .
إنني لأصبو إلى أن أردد لك أصدقَ الكلمات التي ينبغي
أن أقولها لك ، ولكنني لا أجرؤ على ذلك ، خشيةَ ألا
تؤمني بي .
لهذا فإنني أوشّيها بالكذب ، ذاكراً غير ما أفكر فيه .
إنني أدع ألمي يبدو مستحيلاً لئلا تريه أنت مستحيلاً .
إنني أتوق إلى أن ألهج بأثمن الكلمات التي يتعين علي
أن أقولها لك ، ولكنني لا أجرؤ على ذلك ، خشية ألا
أحظى بما يعدل قيمتها .
لهذا فإنني أزجي إليك أسماءً قاسيةً وأُزهى بقوتي
العاتية.
وأؤلمك خشية ألا تعرفي أي ألم .
إنني لأتمنى أن ألزم جانبك صامتاً ، ولكنني لا أجرؤ
لئلا تخون شفتاي قلبي .
لهذا فإنني أهذر وأثرثر ، في هينةٍ ، موارياً قلبي
خلف كلماتي .
وأقسو ، في عنف ، على ألمي ، لئلا تقابليه أنت
بالقسوة .
إنني لأرجو أن أبتعد عنك ، ولكنني لا أجرؤ خشية
أن تري إلى جبني .
لهذا فإنني أقدم إلى مجلسك ، شامخ الرأس ، غير
مكترث بشيء .
إن نظراتك النافذة المتصلةَ المرسلةَ من عينيك تجدد ألمي دوماً .

Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.

The one who plants trees, knowing that he will never sit in their shade, has at least started to understand the meaning of life.

My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to the dance-music of the tide in the evening.

Light, my light, the world-filling light, the eye-kissing light, heart-sweetening light!

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 butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light. Lilies and jasmines surge up on the crest of the waves of light.

The light is shattered into gold on every cloud, my darling, and it scatters gems in profusion.

Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling, and gladness without measure. The heaven's river has drowned its banks and the flood of joy is abroad.

Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh.