Rabindranath Tagore born Bhanu Singh Thakur, a literary soul composes many verses in the universe, and he is famous for one of his works, Gitanjali. A book of the poem on devotion. Apart from this, he has written India’s national anthem, “Jan Gan Man Adhi Na Ek Jai hai” A long ago he already inclined Bengali and later entire India to his new and next level of literature. In 1913 India had found a Nobel person in the literary world, who had become the fist non-European to win the prize. Most of the work had not got known to the world as being a Bengali and considered him as a Bard of Bengal in literature.
National Anthem In Tagore’s Voice
The Butterfly counts not moths but moments and has time enough
Rabindranath Tagore
One of his poetry, Vocation brings elders back to school life and ask our biological nerves to wake up from the stressful chaos and make us remember. Those sweet days walking to our school was much fun in the ’90s. How beautifully Mr Tagore had narrated that quickly releases the string of our tension and give us a pinch of how childhood was one of the life’s treasure? The poem ends with a touch of one mother’s love, care, and watchful eyes of a watchman. Most beloved work of Mr Tagore is now available on Amazon (The Magic of Tagore Paperback –A special limited edition)
Poem: Vocation By Poet Rabindranath Tagore
When the gong sounds ten in the morning, and
I walk to school by our lane,
Every day I meet the hawker crying, “Bangles,
crystal bangles!”
There is nothing to hurry him on, there is no
road he must take, no place he must go to, no
Time when he must come home.
I wish I were a hawker, spending my day in
The road, crying, “Bangles, crystal bangles!”
When at four in the afternoon, I come back from
the school,
I can see through the gate of that house the
Gardener digging the ground.
He does what he likes with his spade, the soils
his clothes with dust, nobody takes him to
Task, if he gets baked in the sun or gets wet.
I wish I were a gardener digging away at the
Garden with nobody to stop me from digging.
Just as it gets dark in the evening and my
mother sends me to bed,
I can see through my open window the
Watchman walking up and down.
The lane is dark and lonely, and the street lamp
Stands like a giant with one red eye in its head.
The watchman swings his lantern and walks
with his shadow at his side, and never once
Goes to bed in his life.
I wish I were a watchman walking the street
all night, chasing the shadows with mine
Lantern.
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