The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.
The time has not come true,
the words have not been rightly set;
Only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.
The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by.
I have not seen His face, nor have I listened to His voice;
only I have heard His gentle footsteps from the road before my house.
The lifelong day has passed in spreading His seat on the floor;
but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask Him into my house.
I live in the hope of meeting with Him; but this meeting is not yet.
- Rabindranath Tagore
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