by Rabindranath Tagore
I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn
uselessly roaming in the sky
O my sun ever-glorious!
Thy touch has not yet melted my vapor
making me one with thy light
and thus I count months and years separated from thee.
If this be thy wish and if this be thy play
then take this fleeting emptiness of mine
paint it with colors
gild it with gold
float it on the want on wind and spread it in varied wonders.
And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night
I shall melt and vanish away in the dark
or it may be in a * * * ile of the white morning
in a coolness of purity transparent.
Wandering clouds
Rabindranath Tagore (with)
I am like a remnant cloud in autumn
floating helplessly in the sky, ah, my ever-shining sun!
Your touch hasn't melted my water vapor,
It has integrated me with your brightness,
which makes me count whether I have been away from you for months or years.
If this is your wish
If this is your game,
Then please accept my passing emptiness,
Color it and paint it with real gold,
Make it float in the unscrupulous wind and spread it into various miracles,
If you want to end this game in this night,
I will melt and disappear.
Maybe it's just a white morning smile,
in that cold and pure transparency.