Kevin Kern-Always Near
Richard Johnson Art41 - The Gardener
Rabindranath Tagore
I long to speak the deepest words I have to say to you;
but I dare not, for fear you should laugh.
That is why I laugh at myself and shatter my secret in jest.
I make light of my pain, afraid you should do so.
I long to tell you the truest words I have to say to you;
but I dare not, being afraid that you would not believe them.
That is why I disguise them in untruth, saying the contrary of
what I mean.
I make my pain appear absurd, afraid that you should do so.
I long to use the most precious words I have for you;
but I dare not, fearing I should not be paid with like value.
That is why I gave you hard names and boast
of my callous strength.
I hurt you, for fear you should never know any pain.
I long to sit silent by you; but I dare not lest my heart come
out at my lips.
That is why I prattle and chatter lightly and hide my heart
behind words.
I rudely handle my pain, for fear you should do so.
I long to go away from your side; but I dare not, for fear my
cowardice should become known to you.
That is why I hold my head high and carelessly
come into your presence.
Constant thrusts from your eyes keep my pain fresh for ever.
Wilhelm Amberg Art
40 - The Gardener An unbelieving smile flits on your eyes when I come to you to For the spring days come again time after time; the full moon When I say I leave you for all time, accept it as true, and let
Rabindranath Tagore
take my leave.
I have done it so often that you think I will soon return.
To tell you the truth I have the same doubt in my mind.
takes leave and comes on another visit, the flowers come again
and blush upon their branches year after year, and it is likely
that I take my leave only to come to you again.
But keep the illusion awhile; do not send it away
with ungentle haste.
a mist of tears for one moment deepen
the dark rim of your eyes.
Then smile as archly as you like when I come again.
Unending Love I seem to have loved you in numberless forms,
Rabindranath Tagore
numberless times…In life after life, in age
after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace
of songs,that you take as a gift, wear round your neck
in your many forms,In life after life, in age after age, forever.
Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age-old pain,
It's ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time:
You become an image of what is remembered forever.
You and I have floated here on the stream that
brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers, shared in
the same shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful
tears of farewell-Old love but in shapes that renew and
renew forever.
Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all man’s days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –
And the songs of every poet past and forever.
Johanna Harmon Art I Found A Few Old Letters I found a few old letters of mine carefully hidden in thy box
Rabindranath Tagore
a few small toys for thy memory to play with. With a timorous
heart thou didst try to steal these trifles from the turbulent
stream of time which washes away planets and stars,and didst
say, “These are only mine!” Alas, there is no one now who can
claim them—who is able to pay their price; yet they are still
here. Is there no love in this world to rescue thee from utter
loss, even like this love of thine that saved these letters
with such fond care?
O woman, thou camest for a moment to my side and touched me
with the great mystery of the woman that there is in the heart
of creation—she who ever gives back to God his own outflow of
sweetness; who is the eternal love and beauty and youth; who
dances in bubbling streams and sings in the morning light;
who with heaving waves suckles the thirsty earth and whose
mercy melts in rain; in whom the eternal one breaks in two
in joy that can contain itself no more and overflows in
the pain of love.
Serge Marshennikov Art
