When I called you in your garden, mango blooms were rich in fragrance
Why did you remain so distant, keep your doors so tightly fastened?
Blossoms grew to ripe fruit-clusters - your rejected my cuppded handfuls,
Closed your eyes to perfectness.

In the fierce harsh storms of Baisakh, golden ripened fruit fell tumbling.
'Dust,' I said, 'defiles such offerings: Let your hands be heaven to them.'
Still you showed no friendliness.

Lampless were your doors at evening, pitch-black as I played my vina.
How the starlight twanged my heartstrings! How I set my vina dancing!
You showed no responsiveness.

Sad birds twittered sleeplessly, calling, calling lost companions.
Gone the right time for our union - low the moon while still you brooded,
Sunk in lonely pensiveness.

Who can understand another! Heart cannot restrain its passion.
I had hoped that some remaining, tear-soaked memories would sway you,
Stir your feet to lightsomeness.

Moon fell at the feet of morning, loosened from the night's fading necklace.
While you slept, O did my Vina lull you with its heartache?
Did you dream at least of happiness?

~ A poem by Rabindranath Tagore

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