CHILD, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning with!"
Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.
I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.
With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my strength over things I never can obtain.
In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am playing a game.
Available free at Project Gutenberg Amazon.in Page
This is a collection of forty poems that are all connected by the theme of childhood. Many are in the voice of a child, but others are in a parent’s voice as he contemplates the nature of youth and how life has changed — or simply as he looks upon a sleeping infant. Some are brief stories or vignettes and others are scenes or philosophical reflections. Among the more well-known inclusions are: “Playthings,” “Paper Boats,” “The Gift,” and “My Song.”
This is Tagore at his most playful, but it retains his usual clever musing.