December 04, 2018


Playthings | Rabindranath Tagore

Child, how happy you are sitting in the 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 out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver. 
With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time
     and my strength over things I never can obtain. 
In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too
     am playing a game.

දිනමිණ වසත් සුළඟ 4.12.2018 

No comments:

Post a Comment