Crescent moon

[Guest guest]

Arrived at the west coast again looking out the window towards the

small island in the sea where my grandfather was born, remembering

the book he bought in 1917.

It is at home on my table with such a beautiful translation of The end

it makes me wonder what Tagore would have said if he could understand

the language.

 

 

Alan

 

 

 

 

 

CLOUDS AND WAVES

MOTHER, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me--

"We play from the time we wake till the day ends.

We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon.

 

I ask, "But, how am I to get up to you?" They answer, "Come to the

edge of the earth, lift up your hands to the sky, and you will be

taken up into the clouds."

"My mother is waiting for me at home," I say. "How can I leave her and come?"

Then they smile and float away.

 

But I know a nicer game than that, mother.

I shall be the cloud and you the moon.

I shall cover you with both my hands, and our house-top will be the blue sky.

The folk who live in the waves call out to me--

"We sing from morning till night; on and on we travel and know not where we pass."

I ask, "But, how am I to join you?" They tell me, "Come to the edge of

the shore and stand with your eyes tight shut, and you will be carried

out upon the waves."

I say, "My mother always wants me at home in the evening--how can I leave her and go?"

Then they smile, dance and pass by.

 

But I know a better game than that.

I will be the waves and you will be a strange shore.

I shall roll on and on and on, and break upon your lap with laughter.

And no one in the world will know where we both are.

 

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 soul."

THE RECALL

THE night was dark when she went away, and they slept.

The night is dark now, and I call for her, "Come back, my darling; the world is asleep;

and no one would know, if you came for a moment while stars are gazing at stars."

 

She went away when the trees were in bud and the spring was young.

Now the flowers are in high bloom and I call, "Come back, my darling.

The children gather and scatter flowers in reckless sport. And if you

come and take one little blossom no one will miss it."

 

Those that used to play are playing still, so spendthrift is life.

I listen to their chatter and call, "Come back, my darling, for

mother's heart is full to the brim with love,

and if you come to snatch only one little kiss from her no one will grudge it."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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