On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time.
But it is never lost, my lord.
Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.
Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts,
buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.
I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed
and imagined all work had ceased.
In the morning I woke up
and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.
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Comments
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So true just like the psalmist said "Our times are in His (God's) hands"
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This is another great thought by Tagore...the poem is an abstract type but the ending is very transparent...beauty
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A very black and white piece, nicely expressed. It would have been better if the text either stayed in archaic form, or left it alone completely. Line 4 seemed a little out of image. But a pleasent notion over all.
Andrew
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