| Lord of My
Life by Tagore Thou who art the innermost Spirit of my being, art thou pleased, Lord of my Life? For I give to thee my cup filled with all the pain and delight that the crushed grapes of my heart had surrendered, I wove with rhythm of colors and song cover for thy bed, And with the molten gold of my desires I fashioned playthings for thy passing hours. I know not why thou chosest me for thy partner, Lord of my life. Didst thou store my days and nights, my deeds and dreams for the alchemy of thy art, and string in the chain of thy music my songs of autumn and spring, and gather the flowers from my mature moments for thy crown? I see thine eyes gazing at the dark of my heart, Lord of my life, I wonder if my failure and wrongs are forgiven. For many were my days without service and nights of forgetfulness; futile were the flowers that faded in the shade not offered to thee. Often the tied strings of my lute slackened at the strains of thy tunes. And often at the ruin of wasted hours my desolate evenings were filled with tears. But have my days come to their end at last, Lord of my life, while my arms round thee grow limp, my kisses losing their truth? Then break up the meeting of this languid day!* Renew the old in me in fresh forms of delight; and let the wedding come once again in a new ceremony of life. Waiting The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart..... I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house..... But the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house; I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet. |