Gitanjali | Page 7

I open my door and look out 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 the
frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou

threading thy course to come to me, my friend?
If the day is done, if birds sing no more, if the wind has
flagged tired,
then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me, even as thou hast wrapt
the earth with the coverlet of sleep and tenderly closed the petals of the
drooping lotus at dusk.
From the traveller, whose sack of provisions is empty before the
voyage is ended, whose garment is torn and dustladen, whose strength
is exhausted, remove shame and poverty, and renew his life like a
flower under the cover of thy kindly night.
In the night of weariness let me give myself up to sleep without
struggle, resting my trust upon thee.
Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thy
worship.
It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the day to

renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.
He came and sat by my side but I woke not. What a cursed sleep it 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 his sight
whose breath touches my sleep?
Light, oh where is the light? Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!
There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame--is such thy fate, my
heart? Ah, death were better by far for thee!
Misery knocks at thy door, and her message is that thy lord is wakeful,
and he calls thee to the love-tryst through the darkness of night.
The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless. I know not
what this is that stirs in me--I know not its meaning.
A moment's flash of lightning drags down a deeper gloom on my sight,
and my heart gropes for the path to where the music of the night calls
me.
Light, oh where is the light! Kindle it with the burning fire of desire! It
thunders and the wind rushes screaming through the void. The night is
black as a black stone. Let not the hours pass by in the dark. Kindle the
lamp of love with thy life.
Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break
them.
Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed.
I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my best
friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that fills my
room

The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate it, yet
hug it in love.
My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet
when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be
granted.
He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon. I am
ever busy building this wall all around; and as this wall goes up into the
sky day by day I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.
I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand lest a
least hole should be left in this name; and for all the care I take I lose
sight of my true being.
I came out alone on my way to my tryst. But who is this that follows
me in the silent dark?
I move aside to avoid his presence but I escape him not.
He makes the dust rise from the earth with his swagger; he adds his
loud voice to every word that I utter.
He is my own little self, my lord, he knows no shame; but I am
ashamed to come to thy door in his company.
'Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'
'It was my master,' said the prisoner. 'I thought I could outdo everybody
in the world in wealth and power, and I amassed in my own
treasure-house the money due to my king. When sleep overcame me I
lay upon the bed that was for my lord, and on waking up I found I was
a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'
'Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'
'It was I,' said the prisoner, 'who forged this chain very
carefully. I
thought my invincible power would