Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
End of summer
In the beginning of time, there rose from the churning of God's dream two women. One is the dancer at the court of paradise, the desired of men, she who laughs and plucks the minds of the wise from their cold meditations and of fools from their emptiness; and scatters them like seeds with careless hands in the extravagant winds of March, in the flowering frenzy of May.
The other is the crowned queen of heaven, the mother, throned on the fullness of golden autumn; she who in the harvest-time brings straying hearts to the smile sweet as tears, the beauty deep as the sea of silence, -brings them to the temple of the Unknown,at the holy confluence of Life and Death.
Rabindranath TagoreThe other is the crowned queen of heaven, the mother, throned on the fullness of golden autumn; she who in the harvest-time brings straying hearts to the smile sweet as tears, the beauty deep as the sea of silence, -brings them to the temple of the Unknown,at the holy confluence of Life and Death.
Monday, September 28, 2015
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Some doors should remain open
If some wanderer, leaving home, come here to watch the night and with bowed head listen to the murmur of the darkness, who is there to whisper the secrets of life into his ears if I, shutting my doors, should try to free myself from mortal bonds?
It is a trifle that my hair is turning grey. I am ever as young or as old as the youngest and the oldest of this village. Some have smiles, sweet and simple, and some a sly twinkle in their eyes. Some have tears that well up in the daylight, and others tears that are hidden in the gloom. They all have need for me, and I have no time to brood over the afterlife. I am of an age with each, what matter if my hair turns grey?
Rabindranath Tagore
It is a trifle that my hair is turning grey. I am ever as young or as old as the youngest and the oldest of this village. Some have smiles, sweet and simple, and some a sly twinkle in their eyes. Some have tears that well up in the daylight, and others tears that are hidden in the gloom. They all have need for me, and I have no time to brood over the afterlife. I am of an age with each, what matter if my hair turns grey?
Rabindranath Tagore
Sunday, July 05, 2015
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Friday, February 13, 2015
Monday, February 02, 2015
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)



















