m.charon

An Afternoon with Tagore  

Amid the gentle winter rains the sparrows flit around

gathering in the yards. On the porch they eye me from outside. 

                           Inside it is said to be warmer. It is drier. 

It is also said: from love the world is born,  

by love it is sustained, towards love it moves,  

and into love it enters. 

I say our Father turns a blind eye sometimes, and the pain 

is left to dissolve us; of self, of wealth, of faith. I am stripped bare. 

              The boundaries disappear. 

I can hear your thoughts whispering in my head now. 

I love you, I hate you, I need you. I feel you in your fear  

and I feel you in your love. 

                         Then you are gone.

I am the soil dark with knowing. Then a single glade of grass  

reaching towards the sun  and drinking you in like air 

and breathing you out under the wings of birds. 

             I am the sparrow. 

I cock my feathered head and listen to the heavens bells.   

What is pain, what is wealth?  What is fear, or love?