আমরা আরম্ভ করি, শেষ করি না; আড়ম্বর করি, কাজ করি না; যাহা অনুষ্ঠান করি তাহা বিশ্বাস করি না; যাহা বিশ্বাস করি তাহা পালন করি না; ভূরিপরিমাণ বাক্যরচনা করিতে পারি, তিলপরিমাণ আত্মত্যাগ করিতে পারি না; আমরা অহংকার দেখাইয়া পরিতৃপ্ত থাকি, যোগ্যতালাভের চেষ্টা করি না; আমরা সকল কাজেই পরের প্রত্যাশা করি, অথচ পরের ত্রুটি লইয়া আকাশ বিদীর্ণ করিতে থাকি; পরের অনুকরণে আমাদের গর্ব, পরের অনুগ্রহে আমাদের সম্মান, পরের চক্ষে ধূলিনিক্ষেপ করিয়া আমাদের পলিটিকস্, এবং নিজের বাক্চাতুর্যে নিজের প্রতি ভক্তিবিহ্বল হইয়া উঠাই আমাদের জীবনের প্রধান উদ্দেশ্য।
Bengali poet, philosopher and polymath (1861–1941)
Rabindranath Tagore (7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941), also known as Rabi Thakur, was a Bengali philosopher, poet, and winner of the Nobel Prize for literature in 1913.
From: Wikiquote (CC BY-SA 4.0)
Pen Names:
ভানুসিংহ
Native Name:
রবীন্দ্রনাথ
Alternative Names:
Rabīndranātha Thākur
•
Kabiguru
•
Tagore
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Bishwakabi
•
R. Tagore
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Rabindranat Tagor
•
Bhanu Singha Thakur
•
Gurudev
•
Biswakabi
•
Nyi Wang Gönpo
•
Tagore, rabindranath
•
Ravindranath Thakur
From Wikidata (CC0)
I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power, that the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted, and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity, but I find that thy will knows no end in me, and when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart, and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.
WHEN I GO ALONE AT NIGHT
WHEN I go alone at night to my love-tryst, birds do not sing, the wind does not stir, the houses on both sides of the street stand silent.
It is my own anklets that grow loud at every step and I am ashamed.
When I sit on my balcony and listen for his footsteps, leaves do not rustle on the trees, and the water is still in the river like the sword on the knees of a sentry fallen asleep.
It is my own heart that beats wildly — I do not know how to quiet it.
When my love comes and sits by my side, when my body trembles and my eyelids droop, the night darkens, the wind blows out the lamp, and the clouds draw veils over the stars.
It is the jewel at my own breast that shines and gives light. I do not know how to hide it.
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Religion is not a fractional thing that can be doled out in fixed weekly or daily measures as one among various subjects in the school syllabus. It is the truth of our complete being, the consciousness of our personal relationship with the infinite; it is the true center of gravity of our life. This we can attain during our childhood by daily living in a place where the truth of the spiritual world is not obscured by a crowd of necessities assuming artificial importance; where life is simple, surrounded by fullness of leisure, by ample space and pure air and profound peace of nature; and where men live with a perfect faith in the eternal life before them.
Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it is
beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day
and night; it is not of the earth.
But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and
space, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust.
Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your
palpitating heart.
The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe
to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother-
dust.