The springtime of Lovers has come,

    that this dust bowl may become a garden;

    the proclamation of heaven has come,

    that the bird of the soul may rise in flight.

    The sea becomes full of pearls,

    the salt marsh becomes sweet as kauthar,

    the stone becomes a ruby from the mine,

    the body becomes wholly soul.

Jalaluddin Rumi

Little Flute

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail

vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. 

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,

and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new. 

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in

joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. 

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.

Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill. 

Tagore - Gitanjali

Stream of Life


The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day

runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. 

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth

in numberless blades of grass

and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers. 

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth

and of death, in ebb and in flow. 

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.

And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment. 


Rabindranath Tagore

Mind Without Fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; 

Where knowledge is free; 

Where the world has not been broken up

into fragments by narrow domestic walls; 

Where words come out from the depth of truth; 

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection; 

Where the clear stream of reason

has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit; 

Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action— 

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake. 

Tagore - Gitanjali

With might and power earth springs forth
out of earth;
Then earth moves over earth with dignity and pride;
And earth from earth builds palaces for kings,
And lofty towers and goodly temples for all people,
And weaves strange myths, strict laws,
and subtle dogmas.
When all these things are done, earth wearies
of earth’s labour,
And from its light and darkness it creates
grey shadows, and soft drowsy fancies,
and enchanting dreams.
Earth’s slumber then beguiles earth’s heavy eyelids,
And they close upon all things in deep
and quiet slumber.
And earth calls out unto earth, saying:
“ Behold, a womb am I, and I am a tomb;
A womb and a tomb I shall remain forever,
Ay, even until the stars are no more,
And until the suns are turned into dead ashes.”

- Kahlil Gibran