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Feb Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore in Hindi ebook pdf. Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore [Hindi] - Download as PDF File .pdf) or read online. Scribd is the world's largest social reading and publishing site.
Retrieved 14 August Song Offerings". Retrieved 8 April Selected Poems Selected Poems". School of Wisdom. Archived from the original on Retrieved The Fortnightly Review.
Rabindranath Tagore. Early life Middle years Political views. Timeline List of works. Hungry Stones Kabuliwala List of stories. Bhanusimha Thakurer Padabali Gitanjali Rabindra Nritya Natya. The Religion of Man. The Cult of the Charkha. Songs of Kabir. Natir Puja film Kshudhita Pashan. The Essential Tagore.
Tagore family Dwarkanath Ramanath Debendranath. Paintings of Rabindranath Tagore exhibition book Rabindra Chitravali book. Retrieved from " https: Bengali-language literature Bengali poetry Poetry collections by Rabindranath Tagore poems poems.
I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts,knowing that thou art that truth which has sited the light of reasonin my mind. I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep mylove in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrineof my heart. And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions,knowing it is thy power gives me strength to act.
The works thatI have in hand I will finish afterwards. Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest norrespite, and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea oftoil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs andmurmurs; and the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of theflowering grove. Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to singdedication of live in this silent and overflowing leisure. I fear lest it droopand drop into the dust. I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touchof pain from thy hand and pluck it.
I fear lest the day end before I amaware, and the time of offering go by.
Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use thisflower in thy service and pluck it while there is time. She has no pride of dressand decoration. Ornaments would mar our union; they would comebetween thee and me; their jingling would drown thy whispers. My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet, Ihave sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple andstraight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.
In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with dust he keepshimself from the world, and is afraid even to move.
Mother, it is no gain, thy bondage of finery, if it keep one shut offfrom the healthful dust of the earth, if it rob one of the right ofentrance to the great fair of common human life.
O beggar, tocome beg at thy own door! Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all, and neverlook behind in regret. Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it toucheswith its breath. It is unholy—take not thy gifts through its uncleanhands. Accept only what is offered by sacred love. When I try to bow to thee, my obeisance cannot reach down tothe depth where thy feet rest among the poorest, and lowliest, andlost.
Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes ofthe humble among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost. My heart can never find its way to where thou keepest companywith the companionless among the poorest, the lowliest, and thelost.
Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore [Hindi]
Whom dostthou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors allshut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee! He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and wherethe pathmaker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and inshower, and his garment is covered with dust.
Put of thy holy mantleand even like him come down on the dusty soil! Where is this deliverance to be found? Our masterhimself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation; he isbound with us all for ever.
Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers andincense! What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered andstained? Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow. I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursuedmy voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track onmany a star and planet.
It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself, andthat training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicityof a tune. The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own,and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach theinnermost shrine at the end.
My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said 'Hereart thou! I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing myinstrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set;only there is the agony of wishing in my heart. The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by. I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only Ihave heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.
The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor;but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.
I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet. Day by day thou art making me worthy of the simple, great giftsthat thou gavest to me unasked—this sky and the light, this body andthe life and the mind—saving me from perils of overmuch desire. There are times when I languidly linger and times when I awakenand hurry in search of my goal; but cruelly thou hidest thyself frombefore me.
Day by day thou art making me worthy of thy full acceptance byrefusing me ever and anon, saving me from perils of weak, uncertaindesire. In this hall of thine I have a cornerseat. In thy world I have no work to do; my useless life can only breakout in tunes without a purpose. When the hour strikes for thy silent worship at the dark templeof midnight, command me, my master, to stand before thee to sing. When in the morning air the golden harp is tuned, honour me,commanding my presence.
My eyes have seen and my ears have heard. It was my part at this feast to play upon my instrument, and Ihave done all I could. Now, I ask, has the time come at last when I may go in and seethy face and offer thee my silent salutation? That is why it is so late and why I have been guilty of such omissions. They come with their laws and their codes to bind me fast; but Ievade them ever, for I am only waiting for love to give myself up atlast into his hands.
People blame me and call me heedless; I doubt not they are rightin their blame. The market day is over and work is all done for the busy. Thosewho came to call me in vain have gone back in anger. I am onlywaiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands.
Gitanjali Gems Ltd.
Ah, love, why dost thoulet me wait outside at the door all alone? In the busy moments of the noontide work I am with the crowd,but on this dark lonely day it is only for thee that I hope. If thou showest me not thy face, if thou leavest me wholly aside,I know not how I am to pass these long, rainy hours. I keep gazing on the far-away gloom of the sky, and my heartwanders wailing with the restless wind. I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil andits head bent low with patience.
The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thyvoice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.
Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of mybirds' nests, and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all myforest groves. My basket was empty and the flower remainedunheeded. Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up frommy dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the southwind.
That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and itseemed to me that is was the eager breath of the summer seekingfor its completion.
I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and thatthis perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart. The languid hours pass by on theshore—Alas for me!
The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. And now withthe burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger. The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in theshady lane the yellow leaves flutter and fall. What emptiness do you gaze upon! Do you not feel a thrillpassing through the air with the notes of the far-away song floatingfrom the other shore?
Today the morning has closed its eyes, heedless of the insistentcalls of the loud east wind, and a thick veil has been drawn over theever-wakeful blue sky. The woodlands have hushed their songs, and doors are all shut atevery house. Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted street. Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in myhouse—do not pass by like a dream. The sky groans like one in despair. I have no sleep tonight.
Ever and again I open my door and lookout on the darkness, my friend! I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path!
By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of thefrowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thouthreading thy course to come to me, my friend? From the traveller, whose sack of provisions is empty before thevoyage is ended, whose garment is torn and dustladen, whosestrength is exhausted, remove shame and poverty, and renew his lifelike a flower under the cover of thy kindly night.
Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thyworship.
It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of theday to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening. What a cursed sleepit was, O miserable me! He came when the night was still; he had his harp in his hands,and my dreams became resonant with its melodies. Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss hissight whose breath touches my sleep?
site it with the burning fire ofdesire!What emptiness do you gaze upon! More than an individual and therefore self-contained agency, what Shree underlines is the collectiveness behind her own writing.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to singdedication of live in this silent and overflowing leisure. In this book you can read some great storing by Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore in Hindi are as below: View details. Subsequently, the male-female divide is disturbed when the transmission of knowledge no longer falls into gendered divisions. The spring has done its flowering and taken leave.
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