Chapter 57 Selected Poems of Tagore

(India) Tagore Preface Now I pack my poems tightly in this book Sent to you like a cage full of birds. The blue sky, the infinity that embraces the stars, the space through which my verses fly, are left outside.The stars, plucked from the heart of the night, and tightly formed into chains may fetch high prices from jewelers in the outskirts of heaven, but the gods will miss the indistinct transcendent ethereal value. Imagine a poem suddenly flashing like a flying fish through the still depths of time!Wouldn't you like to net it up and display it in your terrarium with a bunch of catch?

In the long age of lordly leisure, the poet read his verses daily before his benevolent king, before the ghost of the publishing house painted the background of resonant leisure with black silence, in incongruous The natural accompaniment came alive; at that time, poetry was not used to be swallowed silently.Oh, the poems written to hear Under the critical eye of their masters are today like a train of chained slaves banished to the gray of the toneless papers, those kissed by eternity are published lost their way in the market for investors. For now is an age of hopeless rush and crowds, when the goddess of lyric poetry goes to the heart of the chanter, she must take the tram and the bus.I sigh that I wish I had been born in the golden age of Kalidava, and you were,—but what is the use of such wild wishes?

I was born hopelessly in this time of busy publishing houses—a backward Kalida posture, and you, my lover, are extremely modern. Lounging you reclined in your easy chair flipping through my volumes, you never had the chance to half-close your eyes to hear the murmur of the syllables and end up wearing your poets the only reward you give is a few Silver Corner paid to the bookseller at the bookstall on University Square. Ⅰ1 Come, friend, do not shrink back, step down to the hard ground. Don't collect dreams in the dark.A storm brews in the sky, and lightning strikes our souls. Come down to ordinary life.The web of fantasy is torn, seek shelter in the stone walls.The news of my lover spreads among the spring flowers.

It brings old tunes to my heart.My heart was suddenly covered with green leaves of hope. My lover did not come, but her caresses were in my hair, and her voice came in April's crooning from the fragrant fields.Her gaze is in the sky, but where are her eyes?Her kiss is in the air, but where are her lips?The calling is fruitless, the ardor of desire is utterly empty. The sun went down to his resting place. In the hazy sky in the forest, the sky is bright.Looking down and walking slowly, the evening star follows the past and comes. The breath of dusk is deeply filled with the mood of parting.

I hold your hands in mine, I look for the call with my longing eyes, where, where, oh, where are you!Where is the unquenchable flame hidden deep within you!Like a lonely star in the dark evening sky, the light in the sky trembles in its endless mystery, and in your eyes, in the depths of your eyes, shone a trembling and unrestrained mysterious aura.Wordlessly I gaze at it, and with all my heart I plunge into the depths of this bottomless longing: Overwhelmed myself.If there is only pain in love then why love? How foolish that is, that you ask her heart only to give her yours!Desire burns in your blood Crazy flickers in your eyes Why is there such a cycle of merit and demerit?He who wants nothing from the world He is a self-sufficient; the softness of spring is for him, and flowers and birdsong; but love comes like a gnawing shadow Covers the whole world, swallows life and youth.

Why then seek this mist that darkens existence?I used to cherish fantasies but now I put them away.Following the path of delusion, I stepped on thorns and realized that they were not flowers.I will never fool with love, nor with my heart.In you I shall seek refuge on the shores of this sea of ​​bitterness. I have loved you in a hundred images and a hundred times, from this generation to that, from this life to another. The chain of poetry that my love has woven, you have graciously picked up and hung around your neck, from generation to generation, from life to life.When I listened to the original story, the pain of love in the ancient times, the reunion and parting in the ancient age, I saw your image gather light from the darkness of eternal life like a star forever embedded in the memory of "all things" presenting.

The two of us came up from two springs of love welling up from the bottom of our hearts in the beginning. We two have played in the lives of thousands of lovers, in the sorrowful loneliness full of tears, in the shyness of sweet reunion, in the eternal renewal of old love.The torrent of everlasting love that surges at last finds its final full direction.All the sorrows and wishes, all the memories of carnival moments, all the love songs of poets from all places and all times come from all directions to form a love and lie at your feet. 7 In the midst of your passions a curse strikes, and your life freezes into a stone, white, cold and unfeeling.

You took a holy bath in the dust and plunged into the depths of the primordial peace of the earth. You lie down in the boundless silence, where the waning sun falls, like a fallen flower with seed, to sprout in a new morning. You feel the sun-kissed passion from the roots of grass and trees that clutch your mother's breast like a baby's fingers. In the night, the weary children of dust come back to the dust, and their rhythmic breathing touches you with the great and tender Mother Earth. The weeds wrap you around in intimate flower chains. You are surrounded by the sea of ​​life whose waves are the stirring of leaves, the flight of bees, the dancing of grasshoppers and the fluttering of moths' wings.

Generations you bowed and listened, counting the footsteps of the unseen comer, at whose touch the silence glowed like music. Woman①, sin has stripped you naked, curse has washed you clean, and you have been sublimated into a perfect life. The dew of the bottomless and deep night trembles on your eyelashes, the ever-young generation. This woman is Ahriya in Hindu mythology, the first woman created by Brahma. Her husband, Gautama, turned her into a rock.Later, he was touched by the hero Rama and returned to his original shape. —Translator Moss climbs in your hair. In your awakening you have new birth and ancient wonders, you are as young as new flowers and as old as mountains.

Come, friend who will free me from the chains of servitude, for I am left behind while the pilgrims run after their dreams. Like a torrent rushing suddenly to the sea with its offerings, came and swept me away from under its heavy burden.From the crowd you, the one I totally belong to, the one who calls me by my real name and always smiles at me to make me known. Shackles?They are the shackles, the love and hope of our hearts. They are like the arms of a mother holding the child close to her warm breast. Thirsty?Yea, it is this thirst that brings life to every source of its joy in the breast of the Eternal Mother.

Who is willing to take away the thirst of the child's growing life and open the arms around the mother? I believe I have a word to say to her when our eyes meet on the road. But she passed, and the words rocked day and night like an empty boat on every wave of time—the words I would say to her.It seems that in an endless pursuit, it blooms again as an evening flower, searching for its lost language under the setting sun.It flickered in me like a firefly seeking its own meaning—the words I wanted to say to her. 11 Lord of my being, is your wish fulfilled in me? Days are past without service, nights without love are past. The flowers fell in the dust and were not gathered, begging you to accept. The strings you tuned with your own hands have slackened and lost their tune. I slept in the shade of your garden but forgot to water your flowers and trees. Has the time passed, my love?Have we reached the end of the game? Then let the bell of parting ring, and let the morning refresh love. Let the knot of new life be tied for us in the new marriage certificate. In the coronation of youth, Kalidasa, you are enthroned, and your beloved sits beside you in the first paradise of Love. The earth spreads green lichens under your feet, the sky spreads a gilded canopy over your head; the seasons dance around you with all kinds of charming wine glasses, and the joyful solitude that the whole universe gives itself to you, in you In the boundless silence of the newlyweds' bridal chamber, there is no trace of human misery.Suddenly the curse of God fell from the sky and threw a thunderbolt of isolation on the boundless separation of youthful selfishness.For a moment the service of the seasons is over When the veil is ripped from the solitude of love, in the sky with blurred eyes comes the rain of June The procession of the world The mournful tone of your farewell heart, through it, to a Go far away in a dream. A short poem and a little thing came to my mind this morning. I seem to be rafting on the stream, passing the world on both sides. Every little scene sighs and says, "I'm leaving." The joys and sorrows of the world, like brothers and sisters, raise their pitiful eyes to me from a distance. Family love peeps from her corner and sends me glances. From the window of my heart I gaze longingly upon the heart of the world. I feel that with all its good and bad, it is always lovely. 14 You ocean of things, they say, in your depths are endless jewels. Many skilled divers in the sea are looking for them. But I would not seek with them. The light that shimmers on your waters, the mystery that heaves in your bosom, the music that drives your waves mad, and the dance that dances on your spray, are enough for me. In case I grow weary of these, I'll plunge into your infinite depths: that's either death, or jewels. You will dwell in me silently like the full moon in the summer night. Your sad eyes will watch me in my wanderings. The shadow of your veil shall be cast upon my heart. Your breath like the full moon on a summer night will soar over my dream and make it fragrant. O holy man, sanctify our efforts with the light of your divine touch.Dwell in our hearts, and keep your great image before us.Forgiving us of our sins also teaches us to forgive others.Guide us through all sorrows and joys to reach a state of peace and strength, move us with love to overcome our pride, and let us banish all hatred because of our refuge in you. Incessant is the dripping rain that makes the sky weary. Poor people who are innocent!Poor homeless wanderer! The howling wind dies with whimpers and sighs. What flying shadow does it chase in the pathless field? The night is as hopeless as the eyes of a blind man. Poor people who are innocent!Poor homeless wanderer!Waves run rampant in the river lost in the endless darkness. Thunder is roaring, lightning is flashing its teeth. Starlight dies. Poor people who are innocent!Poor homeless wanderer! 18 You have watched alone all night, and your eyes are weary, dear one! The lights dimmed, flickering in the dawn wind. Wipe your tears, my friend, and draw the yarn over your bosom. The autumn morning is still, the fragrance of the trees is in the air, and the grass path is caressingly gentle. Let wreaths of wretched night lie twisted upon the bed. Go out into this morning world, pick flowers to wear in your skirts, and put new stamens in your hair. I cast my heart on the world; you picked it up. I seek happiness and gather sorrow, you give me sorrow and I find joy. My heart fell to pieces, and you picked them up in your hand and strung them on the string of love. You let me wander from house to house to let me know how close you are to me in the end. Your love casts me into deep sorrow. When I looked up, I found that I was at your door. 20 My heart is like a peacock on a rainy day, spreading its feathers of thought tinged with ecstasy, and seeking visions from the sky in its ecstasy, -- longing for someone it does not know. My heart dances.Thunder clouds rumble across the heavens—the showers roll across the horizon, doves quiver in silence in their nests, frogs croak in the swollen fields,—the thunder clouds rumble.Oh, who is that on the palace tower, who unfurls her thick black braids and hangs the blue veil on her bosom? In the flash of lightning, she was startled away and her black hair fluttered in front of her chest. Oh, my heart dances like a peacock, the raindrops drip on the new leaves of summer, the trembling of the crickets disturbs the shade of the trees, and the swell of the river washes the country meadows. My heart dances. 21 The silent earth looked at my face and opened her arms around me. In the night the fingers of the stars caress my dream soul.They know my old name. Their whispers reminded me of the long silent hypnotic tones. They brought to my heart the smiles I saw in the light of dawn. Love is in every grain of the earth, in the stretches of joy in the sky. I am willing to be dust, because the dust is touched by his feet. Even if I become a flower, I am willing, because the flower is in his hands. He is in the sea and on the shore; He is with the ship that carries all. Blessed am I, whatever I am, and blessed is this lovely dusty earth. Those close to me don't know that you are closer to me than they are. Those who speak to me do not know that my heart is full of your unspoken words. People who crowd my way don't know that I'm walking with you. People who love me don't know it's their love that brought you to my heart. 23 I gaze far into your vast and empty depths and I find no trace of sorrow, death or parting. Only when I turn from my dark self to look at you does death reveal its horror and sorrow its agony.Almighty you, all things dwell at your feet forever. The terror of death hovers over me only with its endless sorrow, but the shame of my poverty and the burden of my life vanish as soon as I feel you in my center. I make a pilgrimage to you, my king, in your silent inner sanctum.Call me from the crowd, when your gates are open to all, I will enter your courts with the tumult, and in the bustle I will not find you. Now it's night, they lift up the lantern and take their way home separately, let me linger here for a while, stand at your feet, raise the lantern to look up at your face. Light your beacon, father, for those of us who have wandered far from you. Our dwelling is haunted in ruins by the receding shadows of terror. Our hearts sink under the weight of despair, We dishonor you when every honor mocks our character and makes us prostrate in the dust. For thus profaning the majesty which thou hast bestowed upon us, thy children, for thus we blow out our lamps, and in our base terrors seem as though the lonely world were blind and godless. But I can never believe that you cannot be found, my king, though our poverty is deep and our shame is great. Thy will to run behind the veil of despair, to open the door of the impossible in your own time. When you come, it is like walking into your own home. On an unexpected day, you walk into an unprepared hall. Under your touch, the dark ruins become a stamen being cultivated by the invisible harvest in its arms. So I still have hope—not that the broken will be mended, but a new world will emerge. Do not be ashamed, my brethren, when you stand in plain white robes before the proud and powerful. Let humility be your crown, and your freedom be the freedom of the soul. Build the throne of God daily on your vast empty poverty, and know that greatness is not greatness and pride cannot last forever. You will guide me from star to star and wake me up in the new morning of love. It is your love that leads the flowing spring of my life from the lost way of Xinsheng Strait to your boundless world. You shall amaze me at every turn with new visions of perfection, and mold my time in the image of joyful immortality. The infinite living water is not chained to the immutable shackles of Immortality, but swiftly passes from death through death to innumerable new niches of light in the endless adoration of its love. 29 Dark clouds have blotted out all light above; and we caged birds ask you, "My friend, is this the time of death in creation? Has God withdrawn the blessing from heaven? " Sometimes the rising wind of April will blow the distant fragrance of hope to our hearts, and sometimes the morning light will gild the iron threshold of our prison with its golden charm, and will also bring the joy of the bright world to us. into our cage. But, behold, the mountains over there are completely dark, and not even the sickle moon that cuts the deep darkness can make a slight crack. Today our chains weigh heavily upon our feet; not a single light remains in the sky to form the illusion of joy. But don't let our fears and sorrows torment you, my friend!Do not come and sit in our cage and bark with us. Your wings are not tied. Leave us far away and fly out of the clouds. From there you send us messages in poetry: "The light is always shining. The lamp of the sun is not extinguished." The battle has been fought.After scrambling and struggling, the treasures were amassed and stored away. Come now, woman, with your golden vase of beauty, wash away the dirt, fill up the cracks, and make the heap beautiful and good. Come, fair woman, put the golden bottle on your head. The play is over.I have come to the village and set up a stove. Come now, woman, come with your holy water bottle.Keep my house clean with your quiet smile and zeal. Come, noble woman, come with your holy water bottle. The morning passed.The sun is burning.The wandering traveler seeks shade. Come, woman, come with your water bottle full of sweetness.Open your door and invite him in with a welcome wreath. Come, blessed woman, come with your bottle full of sweetness. A day passed.It's time to say goodbye. Come, O woman, come with your vase full of tears.Let your sad eyes shine soft light on the road of parting, and the trembling touch of your hand completes the time of parting. Come, sad woman, come with your tear jar. The night is dark; the house is silent and the bed is empty, only the lamp of the last ashram is still burning. Come, woman, come with your bottle full of memories.Put on fluttering hair, put on pure white clothes, open the door of the secret room, and fill the lamps of worship. Come, wretched woman, come with your bottle full of memory. 31 Love, you have made my life great with the majesty of death, you have dyed my thoughts and dreams with the splendor of farewell. The crystal clear light of tears at the point of life's last sunset, the hint of Paradise From the starry sky of love the kissing flames lighten the sorrows of our earth, in a blazing ecstasy that all burns, their end brilliant. Love, you make life and death a great spectacle to me. Like the gentle dusk, the traces of the fatigue and damage of the dark day are covered in its dark veil folds, and still let me feel the deep sorrow for your loss, my love, spread a new chapter in my life A sad silence tinged with gold. Let all its incomplete fragments and bends, all meaningless scattered debris and messy ruins, disappear in the vastness of some nights that are peaceful because of your memory, full of boundless resonance of pain, tranquility and unity inside. 33 Through death and sorrow dwell peace in the heart of the Eternal.The flowing water of life is constantly rushing, the sun and stars carry the smile of existence, spring carries its poetry.Waves rise and fall, flowers bloom and fade, my heart longs to return to its original place at the feet of "endless". night came upon me. My wandering desires came back to me like the whisper of the sea in the air of still night. In the darkness of my room a single lamp was burning. Silence is in my blood. I closed my eyes and in my heart I saw the beauty beyond everything. 35 What tune my life is full of, only I and my heart know. Why I wait, who I ask what, only I and my heart know. In the morning like a friend smiling at my door, in the evening like a flower descending by the woods. The music of the pipa floats in the air sooner or later, and it draws my mind away from work. What tune is this, and who is playing it, only me and my heart know. Well done you for turning me down when I came to beg. I saw a smile in your parting eyes; I have learned my lesson since then.I smashed my old begging bowl, and I waited for the opportunity to give what I had. Crowds gather at your door from morning. Let their needs be met.When night comes they are scattered, and their voices are silenced; when the stars seem to hear the epics of their former ages,—the struggle of newborn light and ancient darkness,—I come to your feet with longing offerings: "Take my flute in your hand and play, master." 37 In my blood I feel your faintly muffled footsteps, "perpetually moving past" Oh, in the tumultuous day I have seen Through your silent face. You came to write on the pages of our destiny with an invisible hand the unwritten stories of our ancestors. You bring back into life forgotten patterns that paint new forms. Is not the restless "now" itself a swarm of your own phantasms that fly like a day of stars from the infinite silent sky? Blessed am I that I was born on this land, so I have the fortune to love her. Even if she never possessed royal treasures, her living wealth of love is dear enough to me. This one and the following six songs were written by the poet during the Bengal Autonomy movement. ——The translator's best fragrant gift to my heart comes from her own flowers. I don't know where else the moonlight can flood my mind and body with such beauty. The first light that appeared to my eyes was from her own sky, let this light kiss my eyes before they were closed forever. Floods, at last, flood your dry riverbed.Call the boatman, cut the rope, let the boat go. Take your oars, my friend, your debts grow heavier and heavier. Because you're wasting your time just wandering around the wharf and doing business hesitantly.Pull up the anchor, put up the sails, and let nothing happen. If they do not answer your call and go away, if they are frightened and cringe wordlessly against the wall, oh, poor you, speak up and speak alone. And if they go of their own accord in crossing the wilderness, and desert you, O wretch, trod the thorns under your feet, and walk alone along the trail of blood.And if they don't lift up their lamps when the storm blew the night, O poor you, burn your own heart with thunder-flames of pain and let it burn itself. They say you are crazy.Silently waiting until tomorrow. They throw dust on your head.Wait until tomorrow.They will lay garlands on you. They sit far away on high seats.Wait until tomorrow.They will step down and bow their heads. Maybe your loved ones will desert you, but never mind, my heart. Perhaps the vine you hoped will break and fall to the ground, and its fruit useless,—but never mind, my heart. Perhaps the night will catch up with you before you reach the door, and your attempts to light a lamp will be in vain. When your lyre plays the tune, the mountain birds and beasts surround you in groups.Perhaps your brethren are still unimpressed, but never mind, my heart. The walls were of stone, and the door was bolted.Perhaps you knock and knock, and it won't open,--but never mind, my heart! Sweeten the land and water, air and fruit of my country, my God. Fill the homes and shops, the forests and the fields, of my country, my God. Let the promises and hopes, deeds and words of my country be true, my God. Let the living hearts of the sons and daughters of my country unite, my God. Our voyage begins, Captain, and we bow to you! The wind was howling and the waves were rough, but we drove on. Dangerous menacing awaits on the road to offer you his gift of pain, and in the heart of the storm a voice cries: "Come conquer terror!" Let us not hesitate to look back at those who have fallen behind, or who have paralyzed the waking hours with fear and apprehension. For your time is our time, and your burdens are our own burdens, and life and death are but breaths in your game On the everlasting sea of ​​life. Let's not waste our time picking out small favors and picking friends slowly. Let us first know that you are with us and we are yours forever. Just for a "nothing" fills me with joy.Just hold my hand in yours. In the darkening night, please pick up my heart and tease it at will.Bind you and me with "nothing". I will spread myself out at your feet and lie still. Under the sky I will meet silence with silence. I will become one with the night and hold the earth to my breast. Make my life joyful for "nothing". The rain sprinkled from one side to the other side. Jasmine is intoxicated in her own fragrance in the wet wind blowing. The stars hidden in the clouds tremble with joy in secret. Let me pour out my heart to overflowing with nothing but my own deep joy. I have searched over and over on my strings for a note that can resonate with you. Morning revival and water flow are simple, dewdrops on leaves, the color of clouds, moonlight on the river bank and mid-night showers are all simple. I seek for my songs a tone that is as simple and full as they are, fresh and alive, as old as the world and known to everyone. But my strings are freshly tuned, and they're full of high-pitched sharpness like spearheads. Therefore, my songs have never had the charm of the wind, and they have never been able to meet the stars and the moon. My effort is an effort, my fidgety tunes try to drown out your music. Let me lie in utter joy on the ground beside your footstool. Let my robe be stained red by the mundane soil your feet trod. Do not place me above others; do not separate me from the multitude. Pull me down to sweet lowliness. Let my robe be stained red by the mundane soil your feet trod. Let me be the last of all your pilgrims; I will strive to reach the humblest and widest place. They come from far and wide to ask for gifts from you. Let me wait till they all get their share; the last remnant will also satisfy me. Let my robe be stained red by the mundane soil your feet trod.The June covered with black veils came again to the fragrance of the moist earth; my heart, which became weary and old, answered the call of the rushing clouds, and was overwhelmed by the disturbance of life's protuberances.Shadows flit across the fresh green of vast lonely pastures; my blood surges with this call: It came, it came into my eyes, it came into my breast, it came into my joyful singing voice. Our master is a worker, and we work with him. His happiness is lively, and we laugh with him. He beats his drum and we march. He sang and we danced. His game is life and death.We play with him with sorrow and joy as our bet. His call is like thunder; and we fly over seas and mountains.The sun was shining, the showers were pouring, the dense leaves shone in the bamboo forest, and the air was filled with the scent of freshly plowed earth. Our hands are strong and our hearts are joyful as we toil in the ground from morning till night. Poetry dances in the swaying rhythm of the pasture, writes its lines of green poems, and sprinkles trembling waves on the ripe rice fields. The heart of the earth is joyful in sunny October, on cloudless nights of full moon, when we toil in the fields from morning till night.You are the ruler of all hearts, the giver of your destiny in India.Your Name inspired the song to be chosen as the national anthem after India's independence. - Translator for the hearts of Punjabi, Sindh, Gujarat and Maratha, Dharakunda, Orissa and Bengali. It resounds in Vendiya and the Himalayas, is mingled with the music of the Jumna and the Ganges, and is sung by the waves of the Indian Ocean. They beseech your blessing, sing your praises, you giver of India's destiny, victory, victory, victory is yours. Your voice goes from here to there day and night, calling Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs, Poonas, Jajs, Mohammedans, Christians to surround your seat. From the east to the west I salute before your shrine to weave a garland of love. You merge the hearts of all into one harmonious life.Giver of your destiny in India, victory, victory, victory is yours. Eternal driver, you drive people's history on the rough road of the rise and fall of nations.Sound your trumpet in the midst of misery and terror, to inspire those who bow their heads in despair, to guide them in the paths of exploration and tribute.Giver of your destiny in India, victory, victory, victory is yours.When the long dreary night lays stupefied over the dark land, your mother's arms are round her, and your waking eyes are bent upon her face, till she emerges from the dark nightmare that weighs on her mind. Rescued from you, giver of your destiny in India, victory, victory, victory is yours. The night was growing brighter, the sun rose in the east, the birds sang, and the morning wind brought the excitement of new life.Touched by the golden light of your love India awoke and bowed at your feet.You King of kings, you giver of India's destiny, victory, victory, victory is yours. Your wealth is unlimited, but you accept it piecemeal, voluntarily, through me from my little hands. That is why you have made me rich with your wealth and you have come to my door yourself though my door is closed. You do not want to scold your chariot, which is faster than thought, but you voluntarily descend into the dust and walk with me step by step. 53 I know that one day my thorns will wear flowers. I know my sorrow will spread its red rose leaves and open my heart to the sun. That south wind that the sky keeps watch in melancholy days and nights will suddenly make my heart tremble. My love will blossom in an instant; and when it bears fruit to offer, I shall not be ashamed. At the end of the night, at the touch of my friend, it will fall at his feet and happily drop its last petals. My heart is lit with the fire of your poetry. It spreads without limit. It danced and waved its arms in the air, burning away death and decay. Silent stars watch from the darkness.Intoxicated winds rush towards it from all directions, this fire, like a red lotus, spreads its petals in Ye's heart. 55 You came to me again in the rising storm, filling my sky with the trembling of cloud.As soon as the sun rises, the stars disappear; the red traces of the road are engulfed in the rain and fog; the roar of the wind comes from across the water. Now and then showers, like phantom fingers, strumming the invisible strings, awaken the dark music, and strike my heart with tremors of sound. Here he comes, with a sword in his right hand and a flower in his left. He broke into your door. He came not to beg but to fight and conquer. He broke into your door. He entered your life through the way of death. He takes everything from you, and is never satisfied with taking part. He broke into your door. Forgive my weakness, O master, if I lag behind in the way of life.Forgive my troubled heart that trembles and hesitates at work. Forgive my coddling that squanders its means on unprofitable "pasts." Forgive me these few dead flowers of offering that withered in the heat of longing time. 58 O pilgrims, the old weary New Year's Eve is over. The fiery sun brings in your path the call of the Destroyer, a harsh Scourge for the uncleanness of the past. A faint ray of Tono stretches along the side of the road, like the faint sound on a beggar's lute, looking for his lost path.Let the dust of the road take you in her arms and take you away from the grasp of entangled rebellion!The music in the house, the lights in the evening, the gaze of a longing lover are not for you.You seem to ask for rewards in life that are neither joy nor peace or comfort, and so you come to a time when every house rejects you.The cruel one comes,—thy bolts and bars are broken, and your wine-jars are smashed; holding the hands of those whom you do not know, and daring not to ask. Don't be afraid, pilgrims! Step away not from the terror of truth, fear not the phantom of the "untrue," but receive your last gift from him who has robbed you of all. Are the old nights over? Then let it be over! 59 Your call flies over all the nations of the world and people gather at your seat. The day has come. But where is India? Did she still hide and drag behind? Let her carry her burden and move forward with us. Bring her, Almighty God, the news of your victory, O Lord ever awakened! 那些向痛苦挑战的人已经穿过那死亡的荒郊而且已经打毁他们的幻想的牢狱。 但是印度在哪里呢？ 她的倦怠的手臂是空着的抱愧的她的日日夜夜是无益的，没有生命的快乐。用你的生气接触她吧，呵，永远觉醒的主！ 新时代的朝阳已经升起。 庙堂里挤满了香客。 但是印度在哪里呢？ 她在屈辱中躺卧在尘埃里，她的座位被掠夺了。 把她的羞耻抹去，在你人民之宫里给她一个席次吧，呵，永远觉醒的主！世界的大路是拥挤的，回响着你车辇的隆隆的轮声。 行路者的歌声震动着天空。 但是印度在哪里呢？她敝旧的家门关闭着，她的希望是微小的，她的心沉没在静默中。 把你的声音传给她沉默的儿女吧，呵，永远觉醒的主！ 在那里的是在他们的血液和筋腱里感到了你的力量而且已经赢得了生命的满足，征服了恐怖的人们。 但是印度在哪里呢？ 在她自疑与失望中予以打击吧！ 把她从追逐自己的阴影的恐怖中拯救出来吧，呵，永远觉醒的主！６０从战胜到战胜他们驾着车辇辗过大地的撕裂的胸膛。 在他们周围时间的脚声被掩住，脚步也迟缓了，鸟的歌声被围困在黑夜的胸怀里。 灌醉了红红的火焰他们的火炬散射出强光像一朵骄傲的莲花飘浮在碧空，众星像着魔的群蜂俯在上面。 他们夸耀说，天空里不灭的光明哺养着他们高举的火焰，直到它征服了黑夜，赢得了黑暗的郁怒沉默的顺从。 钟声响起了。 他们惊起却发现他们睡着了，梦想着财富和肮脏的权力妄想篡夺神的庙宇。 新的一天的太阳高照在夜的爱的弃让上。 火炬被它的灰烬像尸布般掩盖着，天空响着欢庆的声音： “胜利归于大地！胜利归于上天！ 胜利归于征服一切的光明！”６１A你把生活的权利给了我们。 让我们全意全力地来保持这个光荣；因为你的荣耀是寄托在我们的生活上。 因此在你的名义下我们反抗那想把它的旗帜插在我们灵魂里的权力。 让我们知道你的明光在忍受侮辱束缚的人的心里会变成昏暗，当生命变成懦弱的时候，它畏怯地把你的宝座让给“不真”，因为怯弱是出卖我们灵魂的叛徒。 让这个作为我们对你的祈求吧——给我们力量去反抗逸乐，在它奴役我们的时候，向你举起我们的忧伤如同夏天把握它的中午的太阳。 使我们坚强，使得我们的礼拜在爱中开花，在工作中结果。 使我们坚强，使得我们不去嘲侮那软弱和跌倒的人。 使我们当周围一切都向尘土献媚的时候高举起我们的爱。 他们为自爱而争斗杀戮，却把名义归给你，他们为争吃弟兄的肉而哄斗，这首诗的题目是《印度的祈祷》，是在１９１７年印度国大党加尔各答支部开会时间写的。——译者他们和你的义怒争战到死。 但是让我们牢稳地站住坚强地忍受为着真，为着善，为着人的永存性，为着你的在人心合一中的天国，为着那灵魂的自由。 我将不守在屋里等候你的来临，但要走出到空旷的地方，因为花瓣从残花上零落，时光飞向它的尽头。 风乍起，水吹皱了。快快地割断绳索，让船儿飘上中流吧，因为时光飞向它的尽头了。 夜是苍白的，寂寞的月亮划着它的梦舟横渡天空。 这段航程是陌生的，但是我不介意。我的心有一对自由的翅翼我知道我将穿过黑暗。 就让我启程吧，因为时光飞向它的尽头了。 呵，我的孩子，我的小湿婆天，忘我的，在你狂舞的每一步伐中万物动摇而崩陷，你聚敛的东西都散掷了，一阵破坏的旋风把你踩碎的玩具的屑片扬到空中。从荒凉到荒凉你的世界得到它的解脱；你的游戏的泉水永远流穿你的玩具的裂缝；在缺憾中欢乐你用零件建造出你的创作，紧接着只为一个任性又把它忘掉；以天空为你的衣袍，你从身上抛掉了一切的衣服。在你身中隐藏着财富你住在一个完全没有耻辱，卖弄和自私的世界里，在永不会使你困穷的贫乏中，尘埃也不会玷污了你的纯洁，你自己舞蹈的飞掠永远把自己拂拭得雪白。呵，湿婆天，这婴孩，你认我为你的情人，你的舞蹈的生徒，请教我以不羁的智慧，和破坏玩具的游戏，教我怎样引导我的步伐来应赴你的脚拍，怎样撕裂我们自己织成的网束来自由地活动。我不记得我的母亲，只在我游戏中间有时似乎有一段歌调在我玩具上回旋，是她在晃动我的摇篮时候所哼的那些歌调。我不记得我的母亲，但是当初秋的早晨合欢花香在空气中浮动，庙里晨祷的馨香向我吹来像母亲一样的气息。我不记得我的母亲，只当我从卧室的窗里外望悠远的蓝天，我觉得我母亲凝注在我脸上的眼光布满了整个天空。 你问我，母亲，我最喜欢到哪里去。我最喜欢的地方是我的来处。但是我总记不起那个地方。 我的父亲对我的窘惑微笑地说：“那地方是远在云外，在晚星之国里。” 但是我也听你说过，那是在地心的深处，从那里花朵出来寻找太阳。 “那地方是看不见的，”我的阿姨说，“在海底下，在它的金库里收藏着许多珠宝。” 我的哥哥揪着我的头发说，“你怎能找到呢，你这傻子，因为它是和空气掺和在一起。” 我听你们大家的说法，似乎这地方到处都是。 只有我的老师摇着头说——“这地方哪里也不是。” 无情的火闪刺向天心引起一阵干渴的剧痛。 夜是无眠的，白日是悠长疲倦，因着炎热而焦燥。 在枯萎的枝后我听见乏倦的鸽子低唱着可怜的调子，我凝注天空等候那胜利的风雨用它的爱抚来泛滥这渴望的大地。 来吧，解渴的水！ 以流动的狂欢倾盆而下，把死硬的心胸撕裂！ 以涌溢的泉流从神秘的黑暗中跳出，——来吧，纯洁的你！ 太阳等着来欢迎你，因为你是他的游伴。 他的光明的抒情诗唤醒你心中的金色的诗歌。 来吧，光辉的你！ 那沙漠的恶魔对你施了什么符咒，用他的石枷把你囚禁起来呢？ 打破你的狱墙；和你的洪涛一同自由地舞踊着奔来吧。 来吧，坚强的你！ 我的心为着我在这光明和生命世界上的地位的奇妙而歌唱；为着在我的脉搏里的，创造的节奏因无穷时光的摇曳变成韵律的感觉而歌唱。 我在林中散步感到了芳草的温柔，路旁的花朵使我喜跃： 就是无穷的赐予是散播在尘土里在惊奇中唤醒了我的诗。 我看见过，听见过，生活过，在知识的深处曾觉到那高过一切的真理，它以惊奇充满了我的心，我就歌唱。你喝过我替你倒出的诗歌的药汁，接受过我的梦想织成的花环。我的在荒野漂游的心永远因你的亲手摩触而感着痛苦。 当我的日子终结了，我的别话在最后的静寂中沉没了，我的声音和我们已曾相逢的消息将在秋光和湿云里回旋。