reaching out – 100 years hence

The song has contrived to sing beyond
a vessel of shard, of color made to form,
to reveal the brunt of a hundred years, the
lesson of foul unlearned, the grist of many
thousands unlived; yes the scent reaches
me as sure as it dissolves, reveres, speaks.

Yesterday, I picked up and skimmed Tagore once more and came across the poem below from “The Gardener”. This morning I checked the date of publication, and it is 1915! An acknowledgement was due, and so I darted off the short poem above.
Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?
 I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the
   spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds.
 Open your doors and look abroad.
 From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the
   vanished flowers of an hundred years before.
 In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang
   one spring morning, sending its glad voice across an hundred
   years.

6 comments on “reaching out – 100 years hence

  1. zdunno03 says:

    Lovely, both yours and Tagore’s. True companion pieces that needed a hundred years to find each other.

  2. Munira says:

    The most poignant coincidence of the year!

  3. jjz3 says:

    The symmetry of reading Tagore 100 years after he wrote “who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?” is brilliant, illuminating. I just love that this happened and that you wrote in response. Perhaps another entry in the conversation in 100 more years when someone comes across your poem, your blog?

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