My song is plain without any adornments
and my tune needs no dress and decoration.
Pride of my ornaments ruins our union
as they would come between you and me.
Your whispers will drown
in the jingling of ornaments
and I know my poetic vanity dies
surely in shame before your sight.
O master poet, I have sat at your feet!
Let me make my life simple
and straight like a flute of reed
for you to fill with music.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 07
Henry Victor 07.01.2013
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