Self-Imprisonment

Myself, my name, is weeping in the dungeon
I have enclosed him with my busy building
this wall around that goes up into the sky day by day
where I lose sight of my being in its own dark shadow.

Now I take pride in this great wall that I plaster
with sand and dust lest a least hole should be left
in my name; despite all the care I take I lose
sight of my being, forgetting my true name.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 29

Henry Victor          02.10.2012