The Essential Works of Tagore. Rabindranath Tagore

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      I said, "Dâdâ how foolish you are! When mother looks out of her window and smiles down at us playing, would you call her far away?"

      Still said, "You are a stupid child! But, baby, where could you find a net big enough to catch the moon with?"

      I said, "Surely you could catch it with your hands."

      But dâdâ laughed and said, "You are the silliest child I have known. If it came nearer, you would see how big the moon is."

      I said, "Dâdâ, what nonsense they teach at your school! When mother bends her face down to kiss us does her face look very big?"

      But still dâdâ says, "You are a stupid child."

CLOUDS AND WAVES

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      Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me--

      "We play from the time we wake till the day ends.

      We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon.

      I ask, "But, how am I to get up to you?" They answer, "Come to the edge of the earth, lift up your hands to the sky, and you will be taken up into the clouds."

      "My mother is waiting for me at home," I say. "How can I leave her and come?"

      Then they smile and float away.

      But I know a nicer game than that, mother.

      I shall be the cloud and you the moon.

      I shall cover you with both my hands, and our house-top will be the blue sky.

      The folk who live in the waves call out to me--

      "We sing from morning till night; on and on we travel and know not where we pass."

      I ask, "But, how am I to join you?" They tell me, "Come to the edge of the shore and stand with your eyes tight shut, and you will be carried out upon the waves."

      I say, "My mother always wants me at home in the evening--how can I leave her and go?"

      Then they smile, dance and pass by.

      But I know a better game than that.

      I will be the waves and you will be a strange shore.

      I shall roll on and on and on, and break upon your lap with laughter.

      And no one in the world will know where we both are.

THE CHAMPA FLOWER

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      Supposing i became a champa flower, just for fun, and grew on a branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you know me, mother?

      You would call, "Baby, where are you?" and I should laugh to myself and keep quite quiet.

      I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work.

      When after your bath, with wet hair spread on your shoulders, you walked through the shadow of the champa tree to the little court where you say your prayers, you would notice the scent of the flower, but not know that it came from me.

      When after the midday meal you sat at the window reading Ramayana, and the tree's shadow fell over your hair and your lap, I should fling my wee little shadow on to the page of your book, just where you were reading.

      But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your little child?

      When in the evening you went to the cow-shed with the lighted lamp in your hand, I should suddenly drop on to the earth again and be your own baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story.

      "Where have you been, you naughty child?"

      "I won't tell you, mother." That's what you and I would say then.

FAIRYLAND

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      If people came to know where my king's palace is, it would vanish into the air.

      The walls are of white silver and the roof of shining gold.

      The queen lives in a palace with seven courtyards, and she wears a jewel that cost all the wealth of seven kingdoms.

      But let me tell you, mother, in a whisper, where my king's palace is.

      It is at the corner of our terrace where the pot of the tulsi plant stands.

      The princess lies sleeping on the far-away shore of the seven impassable seas.

      There is none in the world who can find her but myself.

      She has bracelets on her arms and pearl drops in her ears; her hair sweeps down upon the floor.

      She will wake when I touch her with my magic wand, and jewels will fall from her lips when she smiles.

      But let me whisper in your ear, mother; she is there in the corner of our terrace where the pot of the tulsi plant stands.

      When it is time for you to go to the river for your bath, step up to that terrace on the roof.

      I sit in the corner where the shadows of the walls meet together.

      Only puss is allowed to come with me, for she knows where the barber in the story lives.

      But let me whisper, mother, in your ear where the barber in the story lives.

      It is at the corner of the terrace where the pot of the tulsi plant stands.

THE LAND OF THE EXILE

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      Mother, the light has grown grey in the sky; I do not know what the time is.

      There is no fun in my play, so I have come to you. It is Saturday, our holiday.

      Leave off your work, mother; sit here by the window and tell me where the desert of Tepântar in the fairy tale is?

      The shadow of the rains has covered the day from end to end.

      The fierce lightning is scratching the sky with its nails.

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