Hello. Here is Tagore's poetry collection: /yishi/tagore.htm#1
I selected 30 poems from the novella, scattered in
1 If you are busy filling your water bottles, come on, come to my lake.
The lake will flow around your feet and gurgling its secrets.
There are shadows of approaching rain clouds on the beach. The clouds and mist hang low on the green lines of the trees, like the thick hair on your eyebrows.
I am deeply familiar with the rhythm of your steps. It beats in my heart.
Come on to my lake if you must fill your water bottle.
If you want to sit around and let your water bottle float on the water, come on to my lake.
The grassy slopes are green and there are countless wild flowers.
Your thoughts will fly out of your dark eyes like birds flying out of their nests.
Your veil will fall to your feet.
Come on, if you want to sit around, come on to my lake.
If you want to leave your fun and jump in the water, come on, come to my lake.
Leave your blue silk scarf on the shore; the blue water will cover you and cover you.
The water waves will tiptoe to kiss your neck and whisper in your ear.
Come on if you want to jump in the water come on to my lake.
If you want to go crazy and throw yourself into death, come to my lake.
It is cool and bottomless.
It is as dark as dreamless sleep.
In its depths night is day and song is silence.
Come if you want to throw yourself into death come to my lake.
2 I want nothing but stand behind the trees at the edge of the forest.
Tiredness still lingers on Dawn’s eyes, and tears linger in the air.
The lazy smell of wet grass hangs in the mist of the ground.
Under the banyan tree, you squeeze the milk with your creamy and soft hands.
I stood quietly.
I didn’t say a word. It is the hidden bird singing in the dense leaves.
The mango tree spreads its flowers on the village path, and bees buzz in every time.
The door of the Shiva temple beside the pond opened and worshipers began to chant.
You put the jug on your lap and milked the milk.
I stood holding the empty bucket.
I did not approach you.
The sky wakes up together with the sound of gongs in the temple.
The street dust flew under the hooves of the driven cattle.
Hold the gurgling water bottle around your waist. The women came from the river.
Your bracelet jingles and the milk foam overflows the rim of the can.
The morning light faded away but I did not approach you.
3 I was walking on the roadside and I don’t know why. I remembered that it was past noon and the bamboo branches were rustling in the wind.
The slanting shadow stretches out its arms to drag the flowing feet.
The cuckoo is tired of singing.
I was walking on the roadside and didn’t know why.
Low-hanging trees shade the huts by the water. Someone is busy at work. Her bracelet plays music in one corner.
I stood in front of the hut. I don’t know why.
The winding path leads through a mustard field and several layers of mango trees.
It passes the village temple and the market at Dutou.
I stopped in front of this hut. I don’t know why.
A few years ago, on a windy day in March, spring whispered lazily and mango flowers fell to the ground.
The waves jumped up and passed over the copper bottle standing on the edge of the ferry's steps.
I miss this day in March when the wind blows. I don’t know why.
The shadows are darker and the cattle are corralled.
The sun is pale on the deserted pasture, and the villagers are waiting to be ferried by the river.
I walked back slowly. I don’t know why.
I run like a musk deer among the trees, crazy with my own scent.
The night is the night in the middle of May, and the breeze is the breeze of the south.
I am lost. I wander. I seek what I cannot get. I get what I do not seek.
The image of my own desire came out of my heart and danced.
The flashing image flew past. < /p>
4 If you are busy filling your water bottle, come on to my lake.
The lake will flow around your feet and gurgling its secrets.
There are shadows of approaching rain clouds on the beach. The clouds and mist hang low on the green lines of the trees, like the thick hair on your eyebrows.
I am deeply familiar with the rhythm of your steps. It beats in my heart.
Come on to my lake if you must fill your water bottle.
If you want to sit around and let your water bottle float on the water, come on to my lake.
The grassy slopes are green and there are countless wild flowers.
Your thoughts will fly out of your dark eyes like birds flying out of their nests.
Your veil will fall to your feet.
Come on, if you want to sit around, come on to my lake.
If you want to leave your fun and jump in the water, come on, come to my lake.
Leave your blue silk scarf on the shore; the blue water will cover you and cover you.
The water waves will tiptoe to kiss your neck and whisper in your ear.
Come on if you want to jump in the water come on to my lake.
If you want to go crazy and throw yourself into death, come to my lake.
It is cool and bottomless.
It is as dark as dreamless sleep.
In its depths night is day and song is silence.
Come if you want to throw yourself into death come to my lake.
5 I want nothing but stand behind the trees at the edge of the forest.
Tiredness still lingers on Dawn’s eyes, and tears linger in the air.
The lazy smell of wet grass hangs in the mist of the ground.
Under the banyan tree, you squeeze the milk with your creamy and soft hands.
I stood quietly.
I didn’t say a word. It is the hidden bird singing in the dense leaves.
The mango tree spreads its flowers on the village path, and bees buzz in every time.
The door of the Shiva temple beside the pond opened and worshipers began to chant.
You put the jug on your lap and milked the milk.
I stood holding the empty bucket.
I did not approach you.
The sky wakes up together with the sound of gongs in the temple.
The street dust flew under the hooves of the driven cattle.
Hold the gurgling water bottle around your waist. The women came from the river.
Your bracelet jingles and the milk foam overflows the rim of the can.
The morning light faded away but I did not approach you.
6 The first jasmine flowers
Oh these jasmine flowers, these white jasmine flowers!
I seem to remember the first time I held these white jasmine flowers in my hands.
I love the sunlight, the sky, and the green earth;
I hear the gurgling sound of the river in the dark midnight;
The autumn sunset greets me at the corner of the road in the wilderness, like a bride lifting her veil to greet her good lover.
But I think of the white jasmine I held in my hands for the first time as a child, and my heart is filled with sweet memories.
There have been many happy days in my life when I have laughed with the joker on feast nights.
I have recited many elegant poems on gray rainy mornings.
I wore a wreath of drunken flowers handmade by my lover as an evening wear around my neck.
But I think of the white jasmine I held in my hands for the first time as a child, and my heart is filled with sweet memories.
7 "I accept whatever you give me from your generous hand. I ask for nothing more."
"Yes, yes, I understand you, the humble beggar you are." Begging for everything a person has."
"If you give me a broken flower, I will wear it in my heart."
"What if there are thorns in the flower?"
I just put up with it. ”
“Yes, yes, I understand you, humble beggar, you are begging for everything a person has.” "
"If you cast just one look of love on my face, it will make my life sweet even after I die. "
"What if it was just a cruel look? ”
“I want it to pierce my heart forever. ”
“Yes, yes, I understand you, humble beggar. You are begging for everything a person has.” "
8 Your questioning eyes are full of sorrow. To comprehensively explore and understand what I mean is like the moon exploring the sea.
I have exposed the whole end of my life to There is no secret or reservation in front of you. So you don't know me.
If it were a gem, I could break it into thousands of pieces and wear it as a necklace.
If it were a round, small and fragrant flower, I could pick it from the branch and hide it in your hair.
But it is a heart, my love. Is it the edge and the bottom?
You don't know the edge of this kingdom but you are still the queen of this kingdom
If it is a moment of joy it will rejoice. When you smile, you will see and understand it immediately.
If it were a burst of pain, it would melt into crystal tears, reflecting its deepest secrets without a word.
But it is love my love.
Its joys and pains are boundless; its needs and wealth are endless.
It is as close to you as your life, but you can never fully understand it.
Talk to me I love you! Tell me in words what you sing about.
9 You are a night cloud, floating in the sky of my dreams.
I will always describe you with the longing of love.
You are mine alone, mine alone, the inhabitant of my endless dreams!
Your feet are dyed crimson by the heat of my longing, collector of my sunset songs!
My wine of pain makes your lips bitter-sweet.
You are mine alone, mine alone, the inhabitant of my lonely dream!
I dye your eyes black with the thick shadow of passion; the haunting soul in the depths of my gaze!
I caught you, entangled you, I loved you, in the snare of my music.
You are mine alone, mine alone, my eternal dream dweller!
10 Tell me if all this is true. Tell me, my lover, if this is true.
When these eyes light up with lightning, the thick cloud in your chest responds with a storm.
Are my lips really as sweet as the buds of awakening first love?
Do the memories of the disappeared May still linger on my limbs?
The earth, like a harp, really trembles into poetry due to the touch of my feet?
Then when I come, will the dew really fall from the eyes of the night, and will the morning light really feel happy because it surrounds my body?
Is it true, is it true, that your love has traveled through many eras and many worlds to find me?
When you finally found me, did your eternal longing find complete peace in my gentle words, in my eyes, lips and flowing hair?
So is the mystery of "infinity" really written on my little forehead?
Tell me, my lover, whether all this is true.
11 I love you, my love. Please forgive me my love.
Like a lost bird, I was caught.
When my heart trembled, I lost my veil and became naked. Cover it with mercy. Love, please forgive my love.
If you cannot love me, lover, please forgive my pain.
Don’t look at me from afar.
I will sneak back to my corner and sit in the dark.
I will cover my naked shame with my hands.
Turn around, my love, please forgive my pain.
If you love me, lover, please forgive my happiness.
When my heart is swept away by the flood of happiness, don't laugh at my turbulent retreat.
When I sit on the throne and rule you with my violent love, when I show favor to you like a goddess, forgive my pride, love, and forgive my joy. .
12 Don’t leave without saying goodbye, I love you.
I visited all night, and now my face is heavy with sleep.
I'm afraid I'll lose you in my sleep.
Don’t leave without saying goodbye, I love you.
I stood up and stretched out my hands to touch you. I asked myself:
"Is this a dream?"
I wish I could use it My heart is tied to your feet and held tightly to my chest!
Don’t leave without saying goodbye, I love you.
13 Just in case I recognize you too easily and you play tricks on me.
You cover your tears by blinding me with the flash of laughter.
I know, I know your clever plan,
You never say what you want to say.
Afraid that I don’t cherish you, you try your best to avoid me.
I am afraid that I will mix you with everyone and you will stand alone.
I know, I know your clever plan,
You never take the path you want to take.
You have more requirements than others, so you are silent.
You avoid my gift with your playful inadvertence.
I know, I know your clever plan,
You never accept what you want to accept.
14 He whispered: "My love, raise your eyes."
I scolded him sternly and said: "Go!" But he didn't move.
He stood in front of me and took my hands. I said: "Get away from me!" But he didn't leave.
He put his face close to my ear. I glared at him and said, "Shameless!" But he didn't move.
His lips touched my cheek. I was trembling and said: "You are too bold!" But he is not afraid of being ugly.
He put a flower in my hair.
I said: "It's no use!" But he stood still.
He took off the wreath from my neck and walked away. I cried, and asked my heart: "Why does he not come back?"
15 "Will you place a garland of your flowers around my neck, my lady?"
"But you have to know that the wreath I made is for everyone, for those who accidentally see it, for those who live in the unexplored land, and those who live in the songs of poets.
It is too late to ask for my heart in return.
There was a time when my life was like a bud, and all its fragrance was stored in the heart of the flower.
Now it has spread far and wide.
Who knows what charm can be collected and closed?
My heart cannot allow me to give it to just one person. , it is to be given to many. "
16 Once upon a time, I love, your poet threw a great epic poem into his heart.
Oh, I accidentally hit your jingle anklet and caused sadness.
It breaks into fragments of poetry scattered at your feet.
All my laden cargoes of ancient wars are tossed by the waves of laughter, soaked with tears and sinking.
You must make this loss my gain, I love.
If my hope of immortal fame after death is gone, make me immortal while alive.
I will not grieve this loss, nor will I blame you.
17 I wanted to make a wreath all morning, but the flowers slipped away.
You sit aside and secretly look at me from the corner of your detective eyes.
Ask these pair of dark mischievous eyes whose fault it is.
I want to sing a song, but I can’t sing it.
A secret smile trembles on your lips; you ask it the reason for my failure.
Let your smiling lips swear an oath about how my song disappears in silence, like a bee intoxicated in the lotus.
It’s night and it’s time for the petals to close.
Allow me to sit by your side and allow my lips to do the work that can be done in silence and in the twilight of the stars.
18 A suspicious smile flashed in your eyes when I came to say goodbye to you.
I do this so many times that you think I’ll be back again soon.
To tell you the truth, I have the same doubts in my heart.
Because spring comes back every year; the full moon says goodbye and comes to visit again, and the flowers come back every year and blush on the branches. It’s so sad that I say goodbye to you just to come back to you again.
But keep the illusion for a while, do not drive it away coldly and roughly.
When I say I want to leave you forever, accept it as the truth and let the mist of tears temporarily deepen the dark shadows around your eyes.
When I come again, smile as you please.
19 I want to say my deepest words to you, but I don’t dare because I’m afraid you’ll laugh.
So I laughed at myself, shattering my secrets in jest.
I make my pain easy because I am afraid you will do the same.
I want to tell you the truest words I want to say, but I don’t dare because I’m afraid you won’t believe it.
So I made things look real, saying things that were contrary to what I really meant.
I made my pain look ridiculous because I was afraid you would do the same.
I want to use precious nouns to describe you, but I don’t dare because I’m afraid I won’t get adequate reward.
That’s why I give you harsh names to show off my toughness.
I hurt you because I am afraid that you will never know my pain.
I long to sit beside you silently, but I dare not, for fear that my heart will jump to my lips.
So I talk easily, hiding my heart behind words.
I treat my pain harshly because I'm afraid you will do the same.
I long to walk away from you, but I dare not, for fear that you will see my cowardice.
So I walked up to you casually.
The constant stimulation from your eyes makes my pain always fresh.
20 No, my friend, I will never be an ascetic, say what you will.
I will never be an ascetic if she does not take the ordination with me.
It was my firm determination that if I could not find a shady shelter and a penitent companion, I would never become an ascetic.
No, my friend, I will never leave my fire and home to hide in the deep woods,
If there is no echo of laughter in the shade; if there is no golden tulip The dress is fluttering in the wind;
If its silence is not deepened by soft whispers.
I will never be an ascetic.
21 For those guests who must leave, ask God to help them leave quickly and sweep away all their footprints.
Hold the comfortable, simple and close smiles in your arms.
Today is the festival of the Phantoms, who do not know the day of their death.
Let your laughter be only meaningless joy, like the sparkle on the waves.
Let your life dance gently on the edge of time like dewdrops on the leaf tips.
Play an uncertain and temporary tone on your strings.
22 You left me and went on your own.
I think I will be sad for you, and I will use golden poems to cast your lonely image and keep it in my heart.
However, my luck is so bad, time is short.
Youth fades year by year; spring is temporary; weak flowers wither meaninglessly; wise people warned me that life is just a dewdrop on a lotus leaf.
Can I ignore this and just stare at the person who betrayed me?
This would be futile and foolish because time is too short.
Then, come, my footsteps on the rainy night; come, smile, my golden autumn; come, carefree April, scatter your kisses.
Come on, and you, and you!
My lovers, you know that we are all mortal. Is it smart to be heartbroken over someone who takes her heart back? Because time is short.
It is sweet to sit in the corner of the room and meditate, writing all of you in my world in rhyme.
It is brave to hold your sorrow tightly and accept comfort from others.
But a new face, peeping outside my door, raised its eyes to meet mine.
I can only wipe away my tears and change the tone of my songs.
Because time is short.
23 If you want this, I will stop singing.
If it makes your heart tremble, I will take my eyes off your face.
If you suddenly jump while walking, I will run away and find another way.
If it upsets you while you are weaving your wreath, I will avoid your lonely garden.
If I make the water splash, I will not row on your river.
24 Toys
My child, you are so happy. You sat in the dirt all morning and played with the broken twigs.
I smiled as I watched you playing with the broken twig.
I was busy doing the math, adding up numbers hour by hour.
Maybe you are looking at me and thinking: "This is such a boring game that you have wasted a good morning of your time!"
Boy, I forgot to concentrate on playing with the branches. With the mud pie method too.
I seek valuable toys and collect nuggets of gold and silver.
You play your happy games with whatever you find, but I waste my time and energy on things I can never get.
As I struggled to cross the sea of ??desire in my fragile canoe, I forgot that I was also playing a game there.
25 Golden Flower
What if I turned into a golden flower just for fun and grew on the high branches of that tree, laughing and swaying in the wind and dancing on the new leaves? Mom, will you know me?
If you call out: "My child, where are you?" I will hide my smile secretly but make no sound.
I want to quietly open the petals and watch you work.
When after you bathed, with wet hair spread on your shoulders, and walked through the shadow of the golden flower tree to the small courtyard where you prayed, you would smell the fragrance of the flower, but not know that this fragrance came from me. Come.
When you sit in front of the window after lunch and read Ramayana, and the tree’s shadow falls on your hair and knees, I will cast my little shadow on you. The page is exactly where you are reading it.
But would you guess that this is the little shadow of your child?
When you went to the cowshed with the lighted lamp in the evening and I suddenly fell to the earth again and became your baby again, please tell me a story.
"Where have you been, you bad boy?"
"I won't tell you, Mom." That's what you and I had to say at that time.
26 The first jasmine flowers
Oh these jasmine flowers, these white jasmine flowers!
I seem to remember the first time I held these white jasmine flowers in my hands.
I love the sunlight, the sky, and the green earth;
I hear the gurgling sound of the river in the dark midnight;
The autumn sunset greets me at the corner of the road in the wilderness, like a bride lifting her veil to greet her good lover.
But I think of the white jasmine I held in my hands for the first time as a child, and my heart is filled with sweet memories.
There have been many happy days in my life when I have laughed with the joker on feast nights.
I have recited many elegant poems on gray rainy mornings.
I wore a wreath of drunken flowers handmade by my lover as an evening wear around my neck.
But I think of the white jasmine I held in my hands for the first time as a child, and my heart is filled with sweet memories.
27 In the distant world of the afterlife
When we walk in the sunshine
If we can meet by chance
I think I would stop in my tracks with infinite surprise.
I will see those dark eyes
At that time they have turned into morning stars; but I will also feel that these eyes once belonged to a past life that was ignored by memory. night sky.
I will suddenly see the charm of your face
It is not entirely your own brilliance
In a meeting that cannot be recalled
It stole the passionate light from my eyes
Then it took away the mysterious holy light from my love___Where this holy light came from has been forgotten by you.
28 Please put down your lute
My love
Let your soft arms embrace me freely.
Let your touch
guide my overflowing heart to the very edge of my body.
Please don’t hang your head
Don’t turn your face away
Please give me a kiss
A long-lasting kiss Fragrant kisses enclosed in buds.
Please don’t suffocate this moment with unnecessary words; let our hearts tremble in the undercurrent of silence
Let all our thoughts be rolled into boundless joy.
29 Cup-shaped flower
A kind of flower given to me. The leaves are grass green and the purple flowers are like delicate light cups.
I asked for the flower’s name but got no answer.
It is a member of countless unknown cosmologist families such as Ronghan nameless stars.
I named it "cup-shaped flower" in my secret private knowledge base.
Invited to take a seat in the garden are peonies, evening cherry blossoms and marigolds.
It enjoys the freedom of not being examined and watched, and does not wear the shackles of caste. It is a wandering monk who is separated from society.
The "cup-shaped flower" withered before my eyes. The wind never brought the sound of withering to my ears.
Molecularly dense moments make up its stars, and the honey in its breast condenses into particles.
The short time has its complete journey, and its single image reflects the history of the petals of the sun's expanding flame.
The god who commanded the festival described its life experience in the corner of the tiny leaf with extremely fine brushstrokes.
At the same time, the magnificent process is revealed without moving the eyes from one page to another. The flow of the century is like a long wave of syllables.
In the vast ocean, hills and hills rise and fall. Vicissitudes have taken place in the sea and desert. In the long river of time, the conflicts of creation have tempered the initial belief of this little flower.
After hundreds of millions of years of walking on the road of blooming and withering, the simple belief of "cup-shaped flower" has become novel, fresh and vivid, and its final image has not yet been revealed.
In what kind of unseen meditation does its invisible faith, its portrait without lines, exist? Invisible scenes, full of infinite imagination, blend into me and record the past and future history of all people.
30 The green leaves of the heart
The countless invisible green leaves of the heart have been clustered around me for thousands of years.
I hide in the trees. They are persistent alms monks thirsty for sunlight. They scoop up the sweet juice of light from the blue sky every day and inject the stored invisible and unburnable flame into the deepest marrow of life; The singing of birds is the crystallization of pure and fragrant beauty from the lover's caress, from the promise of deep love, from the eagerness of tearful devotion.
The many forms of forgotten or remembered beauty leave the true flavor of "immortality" in my veins.
The storm of bitterness and joy caused by various conflicts shakes the leaves that spread my emotions, adds intensive tremors of joy, brings humiliating scolding, uneasy embarrassment, pollution distress and protest under the weight of life.
The strange movement of confrontation between right and wrong stirs up the emotions of the soul, and passion sends all greedy thoughts to the sacrificial hall of sacrifice.
The whispers of green leaves that can be felt but cannot be seen through the ages make my sober dream come to an end. In the idle time of noon when the goshawks are circling in the sky and the bees are buzzing, the lovers sitting side by side holding hands with their tears shining brightly. Their green-shaded sympathy falls on the silent lingering, and they lightly brush the edge of the sari on the heaving soft breasts of the lover lying on the bed.