At The Last Watch Poem - Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore (born May 7, 1861, Kolkata, India - died August 7, 1941, Kolkata), Bengali poet, short-story writer, song composer, playwright, essayist, and painter who introduced new prose and verse forms and the use of colloquial language into Bengali literature, thereby freeing it from traditional models based on classical Sanskrit. 

He was highly influential in introducing Indian culture to the West and vice versa, and he is generally regarded as the outstanding creative artist of early 20th-century India. In 1913 he became the first non-European to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Notable Work of Rabindranath Tagore

• Gitanjali
• Manasi
• Amar Shonar Bangla
• Gitanjali (Song Offerings)
• Gora
• Rabindra Sangeet
• Jana Gana Mana
• Ghare-Baire

At The Last Watch: Rabindranath Tagore

Pity, in place of love, 

That pettiest of gifts, 

Is but a sugar-coating over neglect. 

Any passerby can make a gift of it 

To a street beggar, 

Only to forget the moment 

the first corner is turned. 

I had not hoped for anything more that day. 

You left during the last watch of night. 

I had hoped you would say goodbye, 

Just say 'Adieu' before going away, 

What you had said another day, 

What I shall never hear again. 

In their place, just that one word, 

Bound by the thin fabric of a little compassion 

Would even that have been too much for you to bear? 

When I first awoke from sleep 

My heart fluttered with fear 

Lest the time had been over. 

I rushed out of bed. 

The distant church clock 

chimed half past twelve 

I sat waiting near the door of my room 

Resting my head against it, 

Facing the porch through which you would come out. 

Even that tiniest of chances 

Was snatched away by fate from hapless me; 

I fell asleep Shortly before you left. 

Perhaps you cast a sidelong glance 

At my reclining body 

Like a broken boat left high and dry. 

Perhaps you walked away with care 

Lest you wake me up. 

Awaking with a start 

I knew at once 

That my vigil had been wasted 

I realized, what was to go went away in a moment, 

What was to stay behind stayed on

For all time.

Silence everywhere 

Like that of a birds' nest bereft of birds 

On the bough of a songless tree. 

With the lifeless light of 

the waning moon was now blended 

The pallor of dawn Spreading 

itself over the greyness of my empty life. 

I walked towards your bedroom 

For no reason. 

Outside the door Burnt a smoky lantern covered with soot, 

The porch smelt of the smoldering wick. 

Over the abandoned bed the flaps of the rolled-up mosquito-net 

Fluttered a little in the breeze. 

Seen in the sky outside through the window 

Was the morning star, 

Witness of all sleepless people Bereft of hope. 

Suddenly I found you had left behind by mistake 

Your gold-mounted ivory walking stick. 

If there were time, 

I thought, You might come back from the station to look for it, 

But not because 

You had not seen me before going away. 

- Rabindranath Tagore

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