1)Child, how happy you are sitting in dust,
Playing with a broken twig, all the morning!
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig,
I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
Perhaps you glance at me and think,”What a stupid game
to spoil your morning with!”
Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed
in sticks and mud–pies.
I seek at costly play things and gather lumps
of gold and silver.
With whatever you find, you create your glad games.
I spend both my time and strength over things, I never
I with my frail canoe, struggle to cross the sea
of desire and forget that I too am playing a game.
–Rabinndranath Tagore (Poem–”Play things”)
2)How can I describe this God, when even
scholarly seers are unable to understand or explain Him ?
Like the stars in the clear autumn sky of the poet’s mind,
Like a swan in the pure lake of the believer’s soul,
Like the abundant flood of Ganga’s purifying stream,
As an abundant shower to quench the fire of meanness,
Like the rays of the sun dispelling the darkness of error,
Like sage Agastya, to drink up illimitable ocean of desire,
He is our guardian in this world and the next.