To sit on thy laurels seems apposite, Yet to dig graves for perceptive pleasure resemble a breach Of lines bridging the things learned, unlearned.

His words convince the listener that the world is actually a beautiful place where truth, honesty, and simplicity are the quenching clouds above a desolate desert of dry despair and monotony.

Rabindranath Tagore’s Gora, written between 1907 and 1909, reveals the ways in which Tagore addresses the all-important issues of his time—national identity formation, the coming together of people over time, and obstacles or barriers put in the way of the progress of a nation. The novel captures Tagore’s fascination with envisioning a future based on human amity or moitri, one where the powerless and the dispossessed transcend the barriers of division and distrust.

Truth and beauty reign supreme in the domain of mirth, in the realm of ecstasy. Thy glory resounds within the vast heaven, And the entire world lay at thy gem-bedecked pes. The stars, planets, sun, and the moon are impetuously

One can find Rabindranath anywhere—he’s there in the words we whisper, in the tunes we hum, in the ethos we believe in, in the ideal of the human we wish we were. 

“Who am I? “

We walk past the singing bells and our chambers, Blind to the perils beyond our walls.

I am from the 19 houses in 15 districts, none of which could become "my home, sweet home"  

The motor car is always a thing of darkness, In the sun and lighted roads of day And in the luminous gas at night though 

I found a gold pendant which I decided to keep. I wore it around my neck and looked in the mirror. Did my mother ever wear this pendant?

I frolic and burrow myself inside the vastness of the fields And the prairies that stand tall Of spaces heavily concentrated, and then stretched out to infinity

The hurt remained beneath my skin like an unwritten revelation—never acknowledged, never tended to;

It has been more than a few weeks since I arrived in London for my Master’s, and I still miss my friends, family, and acquaintances back home.

Suddenly, a giant shadow covered up the ground beneath their feet. When she looked up, she couldn’t see the face of the figure until it came closer and sat on the edge of the branch they were sitting on.

Sentiments are best preserved for people who can pay for extra baggage.

The theocracy is crumbling in its seat

I am asked where I am headed. The expression in the lady’s eyes suggests this is not the first time I was asked the question. I stand there, wondering if the pits around her eyes—white as the sun—are caused by the likes of me, and I tell her where I’m headed.

Clouds in heaven bow and billow around your feet, and you- glide through, oblivious to their ethereal presence.

Nothing is meaningless if speech and silence  fill void, flowing in the same force, and no one blocks the road to dreaming.

I tried to be renamed in the middle  But my van and I have never been apart!