Long Tagore Poems
Long Tagore Poems. Below are the most popular long Tagore by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tagore poems by poem length and keyword.
Those souls are of many shades
They walk past me in my dreams,
often with an utter silence, a heavy one,
And, all I do there, is watching those T-Shirts.
T-shirts have the strangest stories of this world
Often in the subtlest way, right on the chests.
One of them used to smoke, one was a poet
And one was a sweet childhood memory,
Left me pondering, for his pal, in the here and now.
And I watched them grow, one by one, as a blooming flower
Where each petal is a hue of gorgeous divine gratitude
Meant only to breathe and to keep the very breathing going on...
I call them friends,
As all colors are a dried space with an uneven texture
Where words hold the unspoken stories,
with traces of Murphy's law
And with a sigh of a lesser prejudice
Of choosing none.
June 25, 2022
Inspired by a Tagore song.
https://youtu.be/3sRLvceliZ0
(This poem is dedicated to my daughter).
Faith Bird
By Mark D. Stucky
“Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark.” -- Rabindranath Tagore
Faith bird, please sing to me!
Stream music in my heart!
For the night is long,
and I need your song.
Faith bird, please help my doubt
about your promised dawn.
If you do, I’ll hold on tight
in this deepest, darkest night.
Faith bird, I will cherish you.
I will feed and nourish you
to keep your beautiful feathers bright
and for you to have a healthy life.
Faith bird, I will never cage you.
Freely explore all you can view,
but return and perch near to me
to sing your journey melodies.
Faith bird, sing not only to me.
Sing to others who are in need,
to others who long to feel the light
in the dark and cold of lifelong night.
(See also my poems "Consider the (Dreaming) Birds" and "Purgatorial Perceptions.")
(Image by Alex Wigan on Unsplash.com.)
What are mental aberrations when in a deep state of meditation by focusing on rejecting all thoughts and senses, and allowing the body to exist autonomously?
To call them visions is to purely describe the minimalistic tangible visual evidence of the experience without regard to meaning and other sensual possibilities. In Genesis 40 of the Bible, Joseph was able to extract meaning from the visions of the baker and cupbearer while they share the same prison. The two men were unable to understand, as they were passively experiencing the visions.
However, to be your own Joseph would require an active experience of these visions. Is this possible? It is if you are actively receiving while in a state of nothingness.
All conflicts must be removed, including the anticipation and understanding of the origin of such experiences. Only when you profoundly receive clarity of understanding may you know their origin. Is the experience from God, Satan, you, someone, or something?
Theologists call this activity being in a state of prayer, or is it? What would you call it?
Now that you are on the Path of Kabir, what truths will you find?
Where spring, the lord of seasons reigneth, there the unstruck music sounds of itself,
There the streams of light flow in all directions, few are the men who can cross to that shore!
There, where millions of Krishnas stand with hands folded,
Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads, where millions of Brahmas are reading the Vedas,
Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation, where millions of Indras dwell in the sky,
Where the demi-gods and the munis are unnumbered, where millions of Saraswatis, goddess of music play the vina,
There is my Lord self-revealed, and the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps.
—?Kabir, II.57, Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
by,
Martin Braun
3/17/2020
though strictly Fermi, and oh...(en Rico) plus sun
dre other parvenues, a rapture
surges thru me,
when audibly communicating, enunciating,
and speaking English words
as if hi ken run
a marathon, or zip to the moon,
(take as cheesy tong in cheek)
from this pun
gent, who relishes reading for my eyes and ears
asper myself, which purported nun
sense ink reese sees learn'n
den earn an award,
especially wash'n black board
den breathing intelligent dust
from eraser head could awk cord,
I utter Hieronymus Bosch, bing enamored,
and aye actually confess
tubby a model United Nations chimp
pan zee, and/or other
type of survey monkey hook can huff ford
Old Rotten Gotham horde
sliding down into the behavioral sink...
exclaiming "oh me jack lord"
and getting rescued then getting less on,
sans get'n taut how (muss elf George Eliot)
tubby comb moored
flossed, milled, and taut
tubby trained for Operation Ready Date
by a coop pull oof oot standing chap,
named Adam West, who poured
salty epithets (reminding me, as they roared
that life iz brutal, short and nasty),
part tickly ne'r the end
wharf hew scored
and majority got de toured
until emotionally, physically,
and spiritually enlightened
By Rabindranath Tagore and Burt Ward.
The Seashore Gathering
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
On the seashores of endless worlds, earth's children converge.
The infinite sky is motionless, the restless waters boisterous.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children gather to dance with joyous cries and pirouettes.
They build sand castles and play with hollow shells.
They weave boats out of withered leaves and laughingly float them out over the vast deep.
Earth's children play gaily on the seashores of endless worlds.
They do not know, yet, how to cast nets or swim.
Divers fish for pearls and merchants sail their ships, while earth's children skip, gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They are unaware of hidden treasures, nor do they know how to cast nets, yet.
The sea surges with laughter, smiling palely on the seashore.
Death-dealing waves sing the children meaningless songs, like a mother lullabying her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with the children, smiling palely on the seashore.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children meet.
Tempests roam pathless skies, ships lie wrecked in uncharted waters, death wanders abroad, and still the children play.
On the seashores of endless worlds there is a great gathering of earth's children.
Originally published by The Chained Muse
NOTE: This translation is based on an untitled text in Bangla (Bengali) first published in 1912 and known as "60" due to its numerical placement. Rabindranath Tagore made history by becoming the first Asian to win the Nobel Prize for Literature the following year. Keywords/Tags: child, children, meet, meeting, converge, convergence, convene, convention, conference, ocean, oceans, sea, seas, seashore, seashores, seaside, beach, beaches, boat, boats, ship, ships, wave, waves, play, playing, storm, storms, tempest, tempests, song, songs, ballad, ballads, dance, dancing
This You Tube video has been created by Malabika Ray Choudhury - the original song "Bandhu raho raho saathe" is in Bengali, a regional language from eastern part of India - rendered by Malabika.
“My Dearest Friend, stay with me”.
Dear Friend, please stay with me
Today - when the sky is overcast with clouds..
a dark morning in the month of Shrabana,
Dearest friend, stay with me.
Were you in my dream
When I longed for my mate in the lonely nights?
My Friend, the days are passing by…in an useless manner…
Today on a stormy day
When the winds are so wild!
Please talk to me, to my heart,
Clasp my hands in yours ~
Dearest Friend, stay with me.
January 24, 2022
Original Song: Bandhu, raho raho saathe...
Translated from Gitabitan (collection Of Songs) by India's Nobel-Laureate Poet, Rabindranath Tagore
Copyright © Malabika Ray Choudhury
Notes: Shrabana is the fourth month in Bengali calendar - it's the rainy season in Bengal, Eastern part of India.
TAGORE ON
I just happened reading Rabindranath Tagore’ s poem called “The Gardener.”
The Gardener XL: An Unbelieving Smile
“……the dark rim of your eyes.
Then smile as archly as you like
when I come again.”
I am a Wheel, my blood flows inward
Of its spokes.
I am a Star,
My blood dissolves
In its Middle.
The Middle is without Time.
Here is where I am born.
Here the Poet letting Go:
Pollen, Sac, Belly
To more giving
Yes—
The weeks go on
And I contemplate the Gardener
Basing on cumulative
Bending, drawing in
Giving Magnificence
Back to the Universe
Stranded between Reason and Awe.
Tagore brings the World
In as Word/song.
With Black and white
His work became tight
As the freest gift
In specially the Light.
-Daniel de Cullá
We need Wordsworth
To save our beautiful earth
Who found God in Nature
And worshipped the creature
He grasped humanity as his own
For which he was born.
We need Tagore
In today's moment of horror
He taught how to conquer over fear
Here and there we can hear
The shrill cry of hungry vultures
The blood-eater creatures.
Tagore showed human love
How to weave it like a dove
He knitted the thread
Of an extensive net
For catching love and mankind
All was entwined
O, come to be united together
We are like the flower
Let's bloom in the field
Like the green grass filled
With morning dew to make us anew.
You’d recreate a military hero?
Macarthur, maybe? Nimitz? Pershing? Sherman?
Or would you choose a leader from the past?
Suppose you went for Mussolini – Nero –
(I can’t remember what they called that German):
but stuff like this is happening today -
(the things that they can do with DNA!)
One rumour is, we’re getting Ethel Merman!
You’d vote for Conway Twitty? Not so fast!
My feeling is, they’ll hit us with a zero:
I think they’re resurrecting Peewee Herman!
From mitochondria they can remake a
Sean Connery, Kirk Douglas, Michael Caine
(the last one, stop the presses, isn’t dead).
You’ll never lose another LA Laker!
We’re dancing, once again, in purple rain!
For Clyde, revived, his object of devotion
(that’s Bonnie) doesn’t lie across the ocean –
she lives to rob anew! Should your disdain
extend to pets, we’ll soon have Mister Ed -
why shouldn’t we? Floyd Patterson, Ma Baker,
the Brady Bunch - George Harrison - John Wayne!
What bothers me is how can we survive it?
Reconstitute a monster from a husk?
Does nothing have importance any more?
They seize our human life and they deprive it
of all its worth. They take a mammoth’s tusk,
and somehow turn it into Lena Horne.
They tell us The Messiah isn’t born,
but next thing that you know, they’ve made Dean Rusk!
They won't bring back Rabindranath Tagore!
What’s next? you ask. They’ve managed to contrive it -
we’re stuck for ever more with Elon Musk!
Lines Written In Nineteen Ninety Three
((with apologies to Rabindranath Tagore)
Where fear stalks the mind and the head hangs in shame;
Where knowledge is twisted;
Where the country has been broken up into fragments by narrow walls of caste and creed;
Where words are mouthed for short-term gains;
Where insatiable lust stretches its arms towards seats of power;
Where the clear stream of reason has dried up in the scorching heat of the forest of communal
flare-ups;
Where the mind is led backward by Thine enemy into ever-narrowing thought and action –
From this nightmare of licence,my Father; let my country awake.