The Gardener, by Rabindranath Tagore, II
February 13, 2008, [MD]
3.
In the morning I cast my net into the sea.
I dragged up from the dark abyss things of strange aspect and strange beauty - some shone like a smile, and some glistened like tears, and some were flushed like the cheeks of a bride.
When with the day’s burden I went home, my love was sitting in the garden, idly tearing the leaves of a flower.
I hesitated for a moment, and then placed at her feet all that I had dragged up, and stood silent.
She glanced at them and said, ‘What strange things are these? I know not of what use they are!’
I bowed my head in shame and thought, ‘I have not fought for these, I did not buy them in the market; they are not fit gifts for her.’
Then the whole night through I flung them one by one into the street.
In the morning travelers came; they picked them up and carried them into far countries.
(thanks to christin-g-O @ flickr for the picture, full text at Wikisource)
Stian Håklev February 13, 2008 Toronto, Canada comments powered by Disqus