Friday, February 26, 2010

Short Poems by Tagore...


The butterfly counts not months but moments,

and has time enough.


Time is a wealth of change,
but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.


Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time
like dew on the tip of a leaf.


Love adorns itself;

it seeks to prove inward joy by outward beauty.


Love does not claim possession,

but gives freedom.


Love is an endless mystery,

for it has nothing else to explain it.


Love's gift cannot be given,

it waits to be accepted


Life is given to us,
we earn it by giving it.


Let the dead have the immortality of fame,
but the living the immortality of love.


Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty
that can modulate their isolation into a
harmony with the whole.


Life, like a child, laughs,
shaking its rattle of death as it runs.

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