The Flower-School

photo: axinia

When storm-clouds rumble in the sky and
June showers come down,

The moist east wind comes marching over the heath
to blow its bagpipes amongst the bamboos.

The crowds of flowers come out of a sudden,
from nobody knows where,
and dance upon the grass in wild glee.

Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.

They do their lessons with doors shut,
and if they want to come out to play before it is time,
their master makes them stand in a corner.

When the rains come they have their holidays.

Continue reading “The Flower-School”

Where have I come from, Where did you pick me up?

flower 

photo by axinia

“Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?” the baby asked its mother.

She answered, half crying, half laughing, and clasping the
baby to her breast-

“You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.

You were in the dolls of my childhood’s games; and when with
clay I made the image of my god every morning, I made the unmade
you then.

You were enshrined with our household deity, in his worship
I worshipped you.

In all my hopes and my loves, in my life, in the life of my
mother you have lived.

In the lap of the deathless Spirit who rules our home you have
been nursed for ages.

When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals, you hovered
as a fragrance about it.

Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs, like a glow
in the sky before the sunrise.

Heaven’s first darling, twain-born with the morning light, you
have floated down the stream of the world’s life, and at last you
have stranded on my heart.

As I gaze on your face, mystery overwhelms me; you who belong
to all have become mine.

For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. What
magic has snared the world’s treasure in these slender arms of
mine?”

Poem by Rabinadranat Tagore

Source: 1000 Petals (blog by axinia)

The Child-Angel


 

photo iawildflwr
They clamour and fight, they doubt and despair, they know no end
to their wrangling.
Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my
child, unflickering and pure, and delight them into silence.
They are cruel in their greed and their envy, their words are like
hidden knives thirsting for blood.


Go and stand amidst their scowling hearts, my child, and let
your gentle eyes fall upon them like the forgiving peace of the
evening over the strife of the day.
Let them see your face, my child, and thus know the meaning
of all things; let them love you and thus love each other.
Come and take your seat in the bosom of the limitless, my
child. At sunrise open and raise your heart like a blossoming
flower, and at sunset bend your head and in silence complete the
worship of the day.

Poem by Rabindranath Tagore

Source: 1000 Petals (blog by axinia)