Stray Birds Stray Birds
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Photo by kalyanayahaluwo/Pixabay (public domain)
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Stray Birds

Rabindranath Tagore
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I cannot choose the best. The best chooses me.

Rest belongs to work as the eyelids to the eyes.

O Beauty, find thyself in love, not in the flattery of thy mirror.

The trees, like the longings of the earth, stand a-tiptoe to peep at the heaven.

The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies.

Life is given to us, we earn it by giving it.

We come nearest to the great when we are great in humility.

Never be afraid of the moments—thus sings the voice of the everlasting.

We read the world wrong and say that it deceives us.

He who wants to do good knocks at the gate; he who loves finds the gate open.

The noise of the moment scoffs at the music of the Eternal.

The sun has his simple robe of light. The clouds are decked with gorgeousness.

The grass-blade is worthy of the great world where it grows.

If you shut your door to all errors, truth will be shut out.

Truth in her dress finds facts too tight.

In fiction, she moves with ease.

When we rejoice in our fullness, then we can part with our fruits with joy.

The best does not come alone. It comes with the company of the all.

Timid thoughts, do not be afraid of me. I am a poet.

Find your beauty, my heart, from the world’s movement, like the boat that has the grace of the wind and the water.

I have suffered and despaired and known death and I am glad that I am in this great world.


The above short poems are taken from the collection Stray Birds (1916). They were originally written in Bengali by Rabindranath Tagore, before being translated into English by their author.

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Every one of us can live a better life. With peace of mind, in the rhythm of the universe, and with a sense of order. We’ve known that for the past ninety-nine years. That is, since a certain Indian monk landed in Boston and infatuated a feverish America.

The “City of Sparta” was the first ship to sail from Bombay to Boston after World War I. It left in the summer of 1920, with a cargo of jute and tea, along with sixty-one passengers. They included British students, missionaries, businessmen, tourists, two Armenians rescued from the genocide in Turkey, and eleven Hindus. One of them was a man with long hair dressed in a traditional, ochre-coloured outfit. His name, Mukunda Lal Ghosh, was entered into the passenger list along with an incorrect date of birth. At the time, he was twenty-seven, not twenty-five, as the officer had hammered out on the typewriter. The “Profession” column had quite an intriguing entry: “governing brahmin” (although he was born into the kshatriya, the military caste), and next to it a handwritten note: “professor.” One more category was also added: “English-speaking subject of the British Queen.” His nationality, “Bengali,” was crossed out and corrected to “Eastern Hindu.” The following information was also noted: “Not liberal, save in matters of religion”.

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