deshe deshe mor ghar acche poem by rabindra nath tagre

Accept only what is offered by sacred love. It is unholy - take not thy gifts through its unclean hands. Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath. Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all, and never look behind in regret. O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders! O beggar, to come beg at thy own door! Mother, it is no gain, thy bondage of finery, if it keeps one shut off from the healthful dust of the earth, if it rob one of the right of entrance to the great fair of common human life. In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with dust he keeps himself from the world, and is afraid even to move. The child who is decked with prince's robes and who has jewelled chains round his neck loses all pleasure in his play his dress hampers him at every step. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music. O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet. My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight. Ornaments would mar our union they would come between thee and me their jingling would drown thy whispers. She has no pride of dress and decoration. Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this flower in thy service and pluck it while there is time. I fear lest the day end before I am aware, and the time of offering go by. I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of pain from thy hand and pluck it. Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it droop and drop into the dust. Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure. Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs and the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove. The works that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.Īway from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite, and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil. I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart.Īnd it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it is thy power gives me strength to act. I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my mind. Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing that thy living touch is upon all my limbs. Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy music, my master! I would speak, but speech breaks not into song, and I cry out baffled. My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly struggles for a voice. The holy stream of thy music breaks through all stony obstacles and rushes on. The life breath of thy music runs from sky to sky. The light of thy music illumines the world.

I know not how thou singest, my master! I ever listen in silent amazement. I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet which I could never aspire to reach.ĭrunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who art my lord.

I know that only as a singer I come before thy presence. I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break with pride and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.Īll that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet harmony - and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight across the sea. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill. Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.Īt the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure.

Deshe deshe mor ghar acche poem by rabindra nath tagre