Deity of the ruined temple!
The broken strings of Vina
Sing no more your praise.
The bells in the evening proclaim
Not your time of worship.
The air is still and silent about you.
In your desolate dwelling
Comes the vagrant spring breeze.
It brings the tiding of flowers -
The flowers that for your worship
Are offered no more.
Your worshiper of old wanders
Ever longing for favor still refused.
In the eventide, when fires and shadows
Mingle with the gloom of dust,
He wearily comes back
To the ruined temple
With hunger in his heart.
Many a festival day comes to you
In silence, deity of the ruined temple.
Many a night of worship
Goes away with lamp unlit.
Many new images are built
By masters of cunning art
And carried to the holy stream
Of oblivion when their time is come.
Only the deity of the ruined temple remains
Un-worshiped in deathless neglect.
-Rabindranath Tagore (Geetanjali, Verse 88)
The broken strings of Vina
Sing no more your praise.
The bells in the evening proclaim
Not your time of worship.
The air is still and silent about you.
In your desolate dwelling
Comes the vagrant spring breeze.
It brings the tiding of flowers -
The flowers that for your worship
Are offered no more.
Your worshiper of old wanders
Ever longing for favor still refused.
In the eventide, when fires and shadows
Mingle with the gloom of dust,
He wearily comes back
To the ruined temple
With hunger in his heart.
Many a festival day comes to you
In silence, deity of the ruined temple.
Many a night of worship
Goes away with lamp unlit.
Many new images are built
By masters of cunning art
And carried to the holy stream
Of oblivion when their time is come.
Only the deity of the ruined temple remains
Un-worshiped in deathless neglect.
-Rabindranath Tagore (Geetanjali, Verse 88)
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