The Gardener: excerpt - Rabindranath Tagore

When I go alone at night to my love-tryst,
birds do not sing, the wind does not stir,
the houses on both sides of the street stand silent.

It is my own anklets that grow louse at
every step and I am ashamed.

When I sit on my balcony and listen to his footsteps,
leaves do not rustle on the trees, and the waster
is still in the river like the sword on the
knees of a sentry fallen asleep.

It is my own heart that beats wildly -
I do not know how to quiet it.

When my love comes and sits by my side,
when my body trembles and my eyelids droop,
the night darkens, the winds blow out the lamp,
and the clouds draw veils over the stars.

It is the jewel at my own breast that shines
and gives light. I do not know how to hide it

Adăugat de: oros

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