Chapter 671: January 8: Tagore's Reminder to People

January 8: Tagore's Reminder to People

January 8: Tagore's Reminder to People

The sky, overcast, looks like it's going to Rain. Spring seems to be coming, but the whole earth still shows no sign of spring. The tardy spring seems to be refusing something, nurturing something, and waiting for something. People's mood seems a bit impatient; everyone is looking forward to spring, talking about spring, calling for spring.

Spring, where are you? The green grass under the sunlight, where are you? The flower thicket where bees and butterflies dance, where are you again?

I am a plain blade of grass, I am a traveling bird, I too am waiting for spring, seeking spring.

Friend, who are you? You are reading my Classic of Poetry? Now I still cannot pluck a flower from the spring thicket to send to you, because spring has not yet arrived; I can only rely on the birds' song on the treetops at dawn to send you early the joyful chant of spring morning. Friend, let us, while spring has not yet come, run forward, to contend for spring's space and time---

"Lazy person,

You go and observe the ant's movement, and you can gain wisdom.

Ants have no marshal,

no officials, no kings,

yet they prepare food in summer,

and gather grain at harvest time

Lazy person, how long will you sleep?

When will you wake up?

Sleep a little longer, nap a little longer,

fold your hands and lie down for a while

your poverty will come like a robber

your lack will be as if a person armed with weapons has come."

My Lord, is it that serious: "Sleep a little longer, nap a little longer, fold your hands and lie down for a while, your poverty will come like a robber"?

Someone long ago told me: "Whatever is beautiful is unwilling and will not stay for anyone." Yes, the spring that people long for day and night is merely a fleeting season among the four seasons of spring, summer, autumn, winter; the beauty of plants and trees is merely an appearance in this season.

Why place hope in these superficial beauties?

All beauty in this world will not stay for anyone. Only the beauty we create with our own hands belongs to us. And it remains forever in our memory.

We use words to fix beauty, bind the years into volumes. When life turns to mist and clouds, people read our feelings under lamplight—that is the meaning of our living.

Tagore said, my heart has flown past, leaving no trace of wings in the sky. Having flown past without leaving a trace of life, this may be Tagore's reminder to people: let the "flown-over" life leave traces............