The Mes­sage

Asian Geographic - - Contents - By Rabindrana­th Tagore

I see a light, but no fire.

Is this what my life is to be like? Bet­ter to head for the grave. A mes­sen­ger comes, the grief-courier, and the mes­sage is that the woman you love is in her house alone and wants you to come now while it is still night. Clouds un­bro­ken, rain, all night, all night.

I don’t un­der­stand these bod­ily im­pulses – what is hap­pen­ing

to me?

A light­ning flash is fol­lowed by a deeper melan­choly. I stum­ble around in­side look­ing for the path the night wants me

to take.

Light, where is the light?

Light the fire, if you have de­sire!

Thun­der, rush­ing wind, noth­ing­ness.

Black night, black stone. Don’t let your whole life go by in the dark.

Ev­i­dently, the only way to find the path is to set fire to my own

life, my own ego, wild im­pulses.


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