The song I came to sing remains unsung
despite my spending my days in tuning my instrument.
The flash for singing is yet to come and words too
have not been set but the wish is firmly settled in heart.
The blossom is not yet open despite the sighing
of the wind and I have neither seen his face
nor heard his voice except his footsteps
softly but surely from the road before my house.
The day to entertain him is here
but the lamp is not lit and I cannot ask him
into my house despite my hope of meeting
with him and this meeting is not yet.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 13
Henry Victor 22.09.2012
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