Every Thursday, I shall read one of Tagore's poems as translated in this book or some other poem I can find. I shall post some lines from the poem and perhaps a detail of how I liked this poem or not. Any others who want to join in this meme are absolutely welcome to do so!
In olden days, I've heard, gods in love
with mortal women used to descend from heaven.
Those days are gone. It's Baishahk, the dry season,
a day of burnt out fields and shrunken streams.
A peasant's daughter, piteously suppliant,
begs again and again, 'Come, rain, come!'
Her eyes grieving, restless and expectant,
from time to time she casts a look at the sky.
But no rain falls. The wind, deaf to her cries,
rushes past, dispersing all clouds,
and the sun has licked all moisture from the sky
with its tongue of fire. Alas, these degenerate days
the gods are senile. And women can only appeal
to mortal men.
As I was reading through the book searching for an interesting poem to feature, this one caught my eye on first reading itself. I love how Tagore connects the first and last two lines, while beautifully describing the wind and the sun conspiring against the peasant's daughter by not allowing the rain to pour.