Goble goes Gitanjali

In the deep shadows of the rainy July, 

with secret steps, thou walkest, 

silent as night, eluding all watchers.

Today the morning has closed its eyes, 

heedless of the insistent calls of the loud east wind, 

and a thick veil has been drawn over the ever-wakeful blue sky.

The woodlands have hushed their songs, 

and doors are all shut at every house. 

Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted street. 

Oh my only friend, my best beloved, 

the gates are open in my house- 

do not pass by like a dream.

In one salutation to thee, my God, 

let all my senses spread out 

and touch this world at thy feet.

Like a rain-cloud of July hung low with its burden 

of unshed showers let all my mind 

bend down at thy door in one salutation to thee.

Let all my songs gather together 

their diverse strains into a single current 

and flow to a sea of silence 

in one salutation to thee.

Like a flock of homesick cranes 

flying night and day back to their mountain nests 

let all my life take its voyage 

to its eternal home in one salutation to thee.

Images: Warwick Goble (1862- 1943)
Words: from Gitanjali, or Song Offerings, by Rabindranath Tagore (1861- 1941)

North Utsire