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Rabindranath Tagore - Copilul ce se nvesmnta cu mantie de print

Copilul ce se nvesmnta cu mantie de print

si poarta la gt lanturi aurite
pierde toata placerea jocului;
la orice pas se-mpiedica-n podoaba.
De teama c-o va rupe sau c-o va prafui
se tine departe de lume
si nu cuteaza nici sa se bucure.
De ce sa fie-ntemnitat n lux?
Oare nu-l dezbraci asa de dreptul de-a intra
n marea sarbatoare a vietii omenesti?

Poete, se-apropie seara; i ncrunete prul
Auzi n visrile tale singuratice chemarea de dincolo?
E sear spunse poetul i-ascult, cineva poate strig din sat,
Cu toat ora trzie
Veghez dac dou inimi tinere, rtcite, se gsesc i dac
Ochii lor lacomi ceresc muzica menit s le curme tcerea
i s vorbeasc pentru ei.
Cine le va ese cntece de iubire, dac eu stau pe rmul vieii
i contemplu moartea i viaa de dincolo?
Cea dinti stea a serii se stinge
Flacra unui rug funerar moare domol lng rul tcut.
acalii url n cor n curtea casei pustii, n lumina istovit a lunii.
Dac vreun cltor, prsindu-i cminul, vine aici s vegheze
Nopatea i cu fruntea plecat s asculte murmurul ntunericului
Cine va fi acolo s-i opteasc tainele vieii, dac eu, nchizndu-mi
Uile, a ncerca s m lepd de datoriile de muritor?
Nu-mi pas c-mi ncrunete prul.
Sunt pururi la fel de tnr, sau la fel de btrn,
Asemeni celui mai tnr, sau mai btrn din satul acesta.
Unii au sursul dulce i simplu, iar alii, un licr viclean n privire.
Unii au lacrimi ce nesc la lumina zilei, iar alii lacrimi ascunse n

Toi au nevoie de mine i eu nu am timp s cuget la viaa de dincolo.
Am vrsta tuturor, ce-mi pas dac mi ncrunete prul!

GITANJALI - Ofranda Liric

Viaa vieii mele...

Viaa vieii mele,

mereu m voi sili s-mi pstrez trupul curat,
tiind c pe fiecare mdular
odihnete atingerea Ta de via dttoare.
Mereu m voi sili
s pzesc de toat nelciunea cugetul meu,
tiind c Tu eti Adevrul
care deteapt lumina minii n sufletul meu.
Mereu m voi sili s frng rutatea inimii mele
i s in n floare iubirea mea,
tiind c ai lcaul Tu
n cel mai ascuns altar al inimii mele.
Iar truda mea va fi
s Te descopr prin faptele mele,
tiind c puterea Ta mi d trie s lucrez.

Where the mind is without fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments

By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake

If I were only a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear,
would you say "No" to me if I tried to eat from your dish?
Would you drive me off, saying to me,
"Go away, you naughty little puppy"?
Then go, mother, go! I will never come to you when you call me,
and I never let you feed me any more.
If I were only a little green parrot, and not your baby,
mother dear, would you keep me chained lest I should fly away?
Would you shake your finger at me and say,
"What an ungrateful wretch of a bird!
It is gnawing at its chain day and night"?
Then go, mother, go! I will run away into the woods;
I will never let you take me in your arms again.

The End
It is time for me to go, mother; I am going.
When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn you stretch out
your arms for your baby in the bed, I shall say, "Baby is not
there!"--mother, I am going.

I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you; and I

shall be ripples in the water when you bathe, and kiss you and
kiss you again.
In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves you will
hear my whisper in your bed, and my laughter will flash with the
lightning through the open window into your room.
If you lie awake, thinking of your baby till late into the night,
I shall sing to you from the stars, "Sleep mother, sleep."
On the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed, and lie
upon your bosom while you sleep.
I shall become a dream, and through the little opening of your
eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep; and when you
wake up and look round startled, like a twinkling firefly I shall
flit out into the darkness.
When, on the great festival of puja, the neighbours'
children come and play about the house, I shall melt into the
music of the flute and throb in your heart all day.
Dear auntie will come with puja-presents and will ask,
"Where is our baby, sister? Mother, you will tell her softly,
"He is in the pupils of my eyes, he is in my body and in my

The First Jasmines

The First Jasmines

by Rabindranath Tagore
AH, these jasmines, these white jasmines!
I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands
with these jasmines, these white jasmines.
I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;
I have heard the liquid murmur of the river
through the darkness of midnight;
Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of the road

in the lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil

to accept her lover.
Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines
that I held in my hands when I was a child.

Many a glad day has come in my life,

and I have laughed with merrymakers on festival nights.

On grey mornings of rain

I have crooned many an idle song.

I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of

BAKULAS woven by the hand of love.

Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh jasmines that filled my hands when I was a

The Gift
by Rabindranath Tagore

I want to give you something, my child,

for we are drifting in the stream of the world.
Our lives will be carried apart,
and our love forgotten.
But I am not so foolish as to hope that
I could buy your heart with my gifts.
Young is your life, your path long, and
you drink the love we bring you at one draught
and turn and run away from us.
You have your play and your playmates.
What harm is there if you have no time
or thought for us.

We, indeed, have leisure enough in old age

to count the days that are past,
to cherish in our hearts what our
hands have lost for ever.
The river runs swift with a song,
breaking through all barriers.

But the mountain stays and remembers,

and follows her with his love.

The Merchant

Imagine, mother, that you are to stay at home and I am to travel

into strange lands.
Imagine that my boat is ready at the landing fully laden.
Now think well, mother, before you say what I shall bring for you
when I come back.
Mother, do you want heaps and heaps of gold?
There, by the banks of golden streams, fields are full of golden
And in the shade of the forest path the golden champa
flowers drop on the ground.
I will gather them all for you in many hundred baskets.
Mother, do you want pearls big as the raindrops of autumn?
I shall cross to the pearl island shore. There in the early
morning light pearls tremble on the meadow flowers, pearls drop
on the grass, and pearls are scattered on the sand in spray by
the wild sea-waves.
My brother shall have a pair of horses with wings to fly among
the clouds.
For father I shall bring a magic pen that, without his knowing,
will write of itself.
For you, mother, I must have the casket and jewel that cost seven
kings their kingdoms.

The Child Angel

by Rabindranath Tagore

Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my child,
unflickering and pure, and delight them into silence.
They are cruel in their greed and their envy,
their words are like hidden knives thirsting for blood.

Go and stand amidst their scowling hearts, my child,

and let your gentle eyes fall upon them like the
forgiving peace of the evening over the strife of the day.

Let them see your face, my child, and thus know the
meaning of all things, let them love you and love each other.

Come and take your seat in the bosom of the limitless, my child.
At sunrise open and raise your heart like a blossoming flower,
And, at sunset, bend your head and, in silence,
complete the worship of the day.

Rabindranath Tagore
(1861 - 1941)
Cand ea trecu pe langa mine...
Nu pastra pentru tine ...
Inima mea, pasare ...
Daca doresti aceasta, fie !
Cititorule, cine esti tu ...
Copilul ce-i impodobit
O, nebunule, care incerci
Singur mergeam pe drumul meu
Acolo, unde cugetul ...
Fii gata, inima mea
Nu-ti este tie harazit

Cand ea trecu pe langa mine...

cand ea trecu pe langa mine cu pasi repezi
m-atise cu poala rochiei, usoara
din nestiuta insula a unei inimi
razbi un suflu cald de primavara
o falfaire si-atingere de-aripa
ma netezi si disparu-ntr-o clipa
ca o petala frageda de floare
ce-o rupe si-o involbura o boare.
cazu pe inima-mi ca un suspin
al soldului in fosnet lin
si ca o soapta moale
a inimii sale.
La inceputul paginii

Nu pastra pentru tine ...

nu pastra pentru tine, prietene, taina inimii tale,
spune-mi-o mie, doar mie, in taina
tu, ce zambesti cu-atata gingasie
sopteste-mi cat mai lin : inima mea te va auzi
nu urechea.
adanca-i noaptea, casa tacuta
cuiburile pasarilor invaluite in somn
deschide-ti printre lacrimi furise
printre zambete nesigure
printr-o dulce-mbujorare a durerii
deschide-ti taina inimii tale ...
La inceputul paginii

Inima mea, pasare ...

inima mea, pasare din salbaticie
si-a gasit cerul in ochii tai.
ochii tai sunt leaganul zorilor
ochii tai sunt imparatia stelelor.
cantecele mele se pierd in adancul ochilor tai
lasa-ma sa ma inalt in aceste doua ceruri
in uriasa lor singuratate.
lasa-ma doar norii sa le spintec
sa le-mprastii vasliri de aripi
in stralucirea lor plina de soare.
La inceputul paginii

Daca doresti aceasta, fie !

daca doresti aceasta, fie
mi-oi intrerupe cantecul.
daca iti face inima sa bata
mi-oi ascunde ochii de fata ta.
daca deodata-n umblet te impiedic
pasi-voi mai alaturi, pe-alta cale.
daca te stanjenesc la impletirea florilor
voi da ocol gradinii tale.
daca-ti fac apa jucausa si salbatica
n-o sa-mi mai apropii barca de malul tau.
La inceputul paginii

Cititorule, cine esti tu ...

cititorule, cine esti tu oare
care-mi citesti poemele acestea
si dupa o suta de ani?
nu-ti pot trimite nici o singura floare
din belsugul acestei primaveri
nici un singur licar de aur
din norii de-acolo, impurpurati de lumini ...
deschide-ti larg usile si priveste afara !
din propria ta gradina in floare
culege-ti doar miresmate aduceri aminte
de flori pieritoare
cu o suta de ani mainainte.
si-n bucuria inimii tale sa simti
bucuria vie care-ntr-o primavara
cu zori diafani
a cantat si vocea ei vesela
si-a rostogolit-o si peste o suta de ani.
La inceputul paginii

Copilul ce-i impodobit

copilul ce-i impodobit
in scumpe haine princiare
si poarta lanturi de giuvaericale
pe dupa gat
isi pierde placerea jocului ;
vesmintele-l stanjenesc la fiecare pas.
de teama ca se zgarie
sau isi pastreaza mainile in colb
deoparte sta de lume
de spaima nici nu se clinteste.
- Mama oare-i prieste
aceasta inchisoare de scumpeturi
daca-l indeparteaza de tarana sanatoasa
daca e jefuit de dreptul de-a patrunde
in marele bazar al vietii-obisnuite, omenesti ?
La inceputul paginii

O, nebunule, care incerci

o, nebunule, care incerci
pe tine insuti sa te cari
pe proprii tai umeri

o, cersetorule care vii sa cersesti

la propria ta usa !
lasa-ti povara-n mainile aceluia
care poate sa ti-o care toata
si nu privi cu jind in urma niciodata!
dorinta ta lumina lampii-o stinge
de cum rasuflul i-l atinge
ce pacatos !
sa nu primesti nici daruri, nici odoare
din palmele-i murdare.
primeste doar ce-ti daruie
cel ce-n iubire sacra staruie.
La inceputul paginii

Singur mergeam pe drumul meu

singur mergeam pe drumul meu
la locul nostru de-ntalnire.
dar cine-i acesta care ma urmareste
pas cu pas in mutenia beznelor ?
ma trag din drum alaturi
sa ma feresc de umbra lui
dar el nu-mi scapa urma pasilor.
starneste, mandru, pulberea in mers
si-ngana cu glas tare
orice cuvant care-l rostesc.
el este eul, eu insumi
si, Doamne, de rusine nici ca stie.
dar eu rosesc sa vin la usa ta
cu umbra-i in tovarasie .
La inceputul paginii

Acolo, unde cugetul ...

acolo, unde cugetul nu se-nspaimanta
si unde fruntea se inalta in tarie ;
acolo, unde liber esti de a cunoaste
acolo, unde lumea n-a fost parcelata
intre ingusti pereti domestici
acolo, unde cuvintele au izvorat
din adancimea adevarului adevarat
acolo, unde truda fara oboseala
intinde brate spre desavarsire
acolo, unde limpedele rau al ratiunii
nu-si pierde firul prin desertul singuratic
al obiceiurilor moarte
acolo, unde spiritul calauzit de tine

se-avanta-n largul meu largindu-se

prin fapta si gandire
in acest rai al Libertatii, Tata,
fa-mi patria sa se trezeasca !
La inceputul paginii

copile, cat de fericit esti tu, cand pe tarana
o dimineata-ntreaga mi te joci c-o franta
ramura in mana.
zambesc privind la jocul tau cu mica, franta
ramura in mana.
sunr prins de treburile mele
si ore-ntregi socot la cifre grele.
poate ca-mi vei zvarli cate-o privire
si-un gand citit pe fata :
ce joc neghiob sa-ti prapadesti cu el o dimineata
copile,-am dat uitarii arta de a ma pierde-n gol
cu bete si cu turte de namol.
eu caut scumpe jucarii topind
un bulgar de-aur si argint.
cu orice-ti cade-n maini, pe-ne-alesele
iti fauresti atatea jocuri vesele.
imi irosesc si timpul si puterea
cu lucuri ce nicicand n-am sa le-ating.
in subreda mea luntre ma tot zbat pe loc
ravnind sa trec Marea Dorintei
mereu uitand ca joc si eu un joc.
La inceputul paginii

Fii gata, inima mea

fii gata, inima mea
lasa-i sa intarzie pe cei ce vor
numele tau a fost strigat
in cerul diminetii.
bobocului de noapte-i este dor de roua
dar floarea inflorita striga
dupa libertatea luminii.
sparge-ti invelisul, inima mea
si-avanta-te-nainte !
La inceputul paginii

Nu-ti este tie harazit

nu-ti este tie harazit
sa faci bobocul verde sa-nfloreasca.
oricat l-ao scutura si l-ai lovi
nu-i in puterile tale
sa-l faci sa dea petale.
atingerea-ti murdara-l pangari.
ii smulgi petalele, si i le spulberi
farame le strivesti in pulberi.
ah ! nu-ti este tie harazit
sa faci bobocul verde sa-nfloreasca
cel care poate sa-l deschida
o face-atat de simplu !
i-arunca o privire pe sub gene
si mustul vietii se porneste-n vene.
la suflul asta floarea-si scoate
aripile la vant, vaslind din toate.
culori s-aprind ca dorul inimii curate
si o mireasa isi destaina
dulcea-i taina.
cel care poate sa-l deschida
o face atat de simplu.

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