“Ah, my sleep, precious sleep.
Which only waits for his touch to vanish
Ah, my closed eyes
That would open their lids only
To the light of his smile
When he stands before me like a dream
Emerging from darkness of sleep.
Let him appear before my sight
As the first of all lights and forms.
The first thrill of joy to my awakening soul
Let it come from his glance.
And let my return to myself be
Immediate return to him.”
Tagore’s Geetanjali |