Gitanjali 99
R
Rabindranath Tagore
0
Altın Yaprak
When I give up the helm I know that
the time has come for thee to take it.
What there is to do will be instantly
done. Vain is this struggle.
Then take away your hands and
silently put up with your defeat, my
heart, and think it your good fortune
to sit perfectly still where you are
placed.
These my lamps are blown out at
every little puff of wind, and trying to
light them I forget all else again and
again.
But I shall be wise this time and wait
in the dark, spreading my mat on the
floor; and whenever it is thy pleasure,
my lord, come silently and take thy seat here.
Bu metin şairin özgün dilinde (bn) değil, bir çeviridir.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş