The Grass is Black/The Air is Pink


feel me/read me/follow me

from “The Lover of God” Rabindranath Tagore

Spring at last! The amuzas flare,
half-opened, trembling with bees.
A river of shadows flows through the grove.
I’m thrilled, dear trusted friend,
shocked by this pleasure-flame-
am I not a flame in his eyes?
His absence tears at me-
love blooms, and then spring
blows the petals from the world.
In my heart’s grove the cuckoos pour out
a bewildering fountain of pleasure-drops,
jewels of the universe.
Even the bee-opened flowers mock me:
“Where is your lover, Radha?
Does he sleep without you
on this scented night of spring?”


Filed under: desire,desire,desire..., that crazy,little thing called love, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

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