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Summary: the gardener
Comment: excellent collection of indian poetry. found it accidently while browsing in a huge 6 story library. quite a lucky find.
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Summary: Visiting a flower garden in a magic ancient kingdom
Comment: "Please, make me the gardener of your flower garden", a lover asks his beloved. He calls himself a servant and his beloved the queen. He dreams to serve her idle days. He wants to keep fresh the grassy path where she walks in the morning; he wants her feet to be greeted with praise at every step by the flowers. And what he wants for his reward? He asks to be allowed to hold her little fists like tender lotus-buds and slip flower chains over her wrists; to tinge the soles of her feet with the red juice of flower petals and kiss away the speck of dust that may chance to linger there.
This is the way Rabindranath Tagore, the greatest Indian poet of all times, introduce us to this enchanted collection of poems, poems that touch the most profound strings of our hearts. His poems tell us about love and life - and they are rich with the description of nature and beauty. Anybody that loves or has loved cannot remain indifferent to his poems. Some readers "have smiles, sweet and simple, and some a sly twinkle in their eyes. Some have tears that well up in the daylight, and others tears that are hidden in the gloom." But we all have need for him, the poet, who is "ever as young or as old as the youngest and the oldest of the village".
His poems tell us of impossible love - like the love of the free bird and the cage bird: "Their love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing. Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other. They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, 'Come closer, my love!' The free bird cries, 'It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage.' The cage bird whispers, 'Alas, my wings are powerless and dead.' "
His poems tell us of secret love: "The young traveler came along the road in the rosy mist of the morning. He stopped before my door and asked me with an eager cry, 'Where is she?' For very shame I could not say, 'She is I, young traveler, she is I.' "
His poems tell us of lovers' emotion: "When my love comes and sits by my side, when my body trembles and my eyelids droop, the night darkens, the wind blows 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."
His poems tell us of the need for love confidence: "Do not keep to yourself the secret of your heart, my friend! Say it to me, only to me, in secret. You who smile so gently, softly whisper, my heart will hear it, not my ears."
His poems tell us of a love story: "Hands cling to hands and eyes linger on eyes: thus begins the record of our hearts. It is the moonlit night of March; the sweet smell of henna is in the air; my flute lies on the earth neglected and your garland of flowers is unfinished. This love between you and me is simple as a song."
His poems tell us of lovers departing: "An unbelieving smile flits on your eyes when I come to you to take my leave. I have done it so often that you think I will soon return. To tell you the truth I have the same doubt in my mind. For the spring days come again time after time; the full moon takes leave and comes on another visit, the flowers come again and blush upon their branches year after year, and it is likely that I take my leave only to come to you again. But keep the illusion awhile; do not send it away with ungentle haste. When I say I leave you for all time, accept it as true, and let a mist of tears for one moment deepen the dark rim of your eyes. Then smile as archly as you like when I come again."
Reading those poems I felt like visiting a flower garden full of scents and beauty in a magic ancient kingdom.
