#IndianWriters #NobelPrize
WHEN the two sisters go to fetch… They must be aware of somebody who… The two sisters whisper to each ot… They must have guessed the secret… Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and…
Where do you hurry with your baske… They all have come home with their… The echoes of the voices calling f… Where do you hurry with your baske… Sleep has laid her fingers upon th…
Mother, I shall weave a chain of… with my tears of sorrow. The stars have wrought their ankle… but mine will hang upon thy breast… Wealth and fame come from thee
With days of hard travail I raise… I forgot all else, I shunned all… It was always night inside, and li… The ceaseless smoke of incense wou… Sleepless, I carved on the walls…
When I go alone at night to my lo… It is my own anklets that grow lou… When I sit on my balcony and list… It is my own heart that beats wild… When my love comes and sits by my…
They clamour and fight, they doubt… to their wrangling. Let your life come amongst them li… child, unflickering and pure, and… They are cruel in their greed and…
I spent my day on the scorching ho… Now, in the cool of the evening,… A grim ashath tree spreads its hun… Days have been when wayfarers came… They spread their mats in the cour…
I hold her hands and press her to… I try to fill my arms with her lov… Ah, but, where is it? Who can st… I try to grasp the beauty, it elud… Baffled and weary I come back.
I wonder if I know him In whose speech is my voice, In whose movement is my being, Whose skill is in my lines, Whose melody is in my songs
If baby only wanted to, he could f… It is not for nothing that he does… He loves to rest his head on mothe… bear to lose sight of her. Baby know all manner of wise words…
There is a looker—on who sits behi… things in ages and worlds beyond m… forgotten sights glisten on the gr… has seen under new veils the face… hours of many a nameless star. The…
I often wonder where lie hidden th… Through what primal paradise in a… Those marks of their constant trea… Yet suddenly in some wordless musi… It seems that the two friends meet…
Why did he choose to come to my do… As I come in and out I pass by hi… I know not if I should speak to h… The cloudy nights in July are dar… He weaves his songs with fresh tun…
If thou speakest not I will fill… I will keep still and wait like th… and its head bent low with patienc… The morning will surely come, the… and thy voice pour down in golden…
The butterfly counts not months bu… and has time enough. Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes… Let your life lightly dance on the…