Rabindranath Tagore (7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941 / Calcutta (Kolkata), Bengal Presidency / British India)
When I called you in your garden
Mango blooms were rich in fragrance -
Why did you remain so distant,
Keep your doors so tightly fastened?
Blossoms grew to ripe fruit-clusters -
Your rejected my cuppded handfuls,
Closed your eyes to perfectness.
In the fierce harsh storms of Baisakh,
Golden ripened fruit fell tumbling.
'Dust, I said, 'defiles such offerings:
Let your hands be heaven to them.'
Still you showed no friendliness.
Lampless were your doors at evening,
Pitch-black as I played my vina.
How the starlight twanged my heartstrings!
How I set my vina dancing!
You showed no responsiveness.
Sad birds twittered sleeplessly,
Calling, calling lost companions.
Gone the right time for our union -
Low the moon while still you brooded,
Sunk in lonely pensiveness.
Who can understand another!
Heart cannot restrain its passion.
I had hoped that some remaining
Tear-soaked memories would sway you,
Stir your feet to lightsomeness.
Moon fell at the feet of morning,
Loosened from the night's fading necklace.
While you slept, O did my Vina
Lull you with its heartache? Did you
Dream at least of happiness?
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