Upon Awakening
by Rabindranath Tagore
Upon awakening I found
with light a letter.
But I cannot know
that it says, “I can’t read.”
And I don’t want to distract
a wise man from books:
What is written there perhaps
he wouldn’t know how to read.
I will hold it to my forehead,
I will hold it close to my heart.
When night falls
and the stars come out,
I will carry it in front of me
and I will be silent.
And they will read it to me
the leaves that flutter,
and it will make a stream for me
with its flow a song
which will repeat to me
even the Ursa Major.
I don’t know how to find
what I am looking for, or understand
what I should learn,
but I know that this letter
that I have not read, has made
my burden lighter,
and all my thoughts
have changed into songs.
