365bet娱乐

So I have learnt at last that I was meant
As the sad solitary instrument
For Life to play upon beyond my reach.
I am dumb silence broken into speech
By everything around me everywhere:
The squirrel on the bough crooked and bent,
The high-born rainbow hanging in the air,
The crimson crab that crawls across the beach,
All these are my musicians . . . each
Of them, without its knowing, brings
Its individual music to my strings.
How little those who say they know me, know
My miracles of moods that come and go
Unseen, unnoticed and unheard,
Changing from hour to hour.
I am as sorrowful as any bird
Deep in the woodlands singing all in vain . . .
I am as bruised as any wayside flower
Exposed to wind and rain . . .
Still as a mountain in a storm, I keep
A stern, untroubled, ever-wakeful sleep,
And yet, upon the surface, I am loud
And terrible as any tempest cloud,
For all invisibly, the players play
Upon my strings the livelong night and day.
Flame-fingered desire
Touches me into tunes of living fire,
Black-garmented despair in rapture strikes
The saddest tune it likes . . .
And love as white as lilies and doves
Plays on my heart the silence that is love's,
While death, immortal, immemorial friend
Seated behind all song with life his mate,
Whispers to her鈥揑 have not long to wait,
For songs of love and longing swiftly end.

Bimlipatam,

7th June 1931

H. Chattopadhyaya

RENUNCIATION

Burst my soul into a blood-red flower
And put it in your black hair.
Break, in the silence of my soul's deep hour, I
A rose out of my despair.
Make me a roadway for the creaking cart
Of all your heavy pain.
O unborn flower, make a cloud of my heart
To burst for your sake into rain.

H. Chattopadhyaya