Release from the Rat Race

Bird songs rippled the morning sea of silence
and the flowers were merry by the roadside
with wealth of golden rays scattered through the rift
of clouds as we, unaware of these, raced on our way.

Singing no glad songs, nor playing, or smiling
or speaking, or bartering in the village
never lingering on our way, we quickened
increasing speed as limbs of the clock sped by.

The sun moved to the mid sky and in the shade doves cooed
as withered leaves danced, whirled in the hot air of the noon
and the shepherd boy drowsed, dreamed under the banyan
tree as I rested my tired limbs on the grass beside the water.

My companions with scorn laughed at me holding their heads
high as they hurried on never looking back nor resting
vanishing in the distant blue haze crossing meadows and hills
passing through strange and far-away countries.

All honour to you, the heroic host of the ceaseless path!
As I greeted scorn and guilt pricked me to rise, and I found
no response in soul giving myself up for the lost,
a glad humiliation in the shadow of a dim delight.

The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom
slowly spread over my heart and I forgot the purpose
for, and the goal of my travel, surrendering my mind
without struggle to the maze of shadows and songs.

At last when I woke from my slumber, opened my eyes
I saw you standing by me, flooding my sleep with your smile!
Oh, how I had feared that the path was long and so tiresome
and the struggle to reach you was hard!

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 48

Henry Victor          04.11.2012