Rabindranath Tagore - Waiting

art Sangeetha Kamath

The song that I came to sing remains
unsung to this day.

I have spent my days in stringing
and in unstringing my instrument.

The time has not come true,
the words have not been rightly set;
only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.

The blossom has not opened;
only the wind is sighing by.

I have not seen his face, nor have I
listened to his voice; only I have heard
his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.

The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor;
but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.

I live in the hope of meeting with him;
but this meeting is not yet.