‘The Borderland’ by Rabindranath Tagore

8

One by one the lamps on the stage blow out,
The meeting place empties, and a dark stain
Blots out my dream-images like deep sleep,
Hushes my mind like a raised forefinger.  The guise
In which I have all along projected myself,
Since the curtain first rose, seems suddenly
Futile.  The various marks of my individuality,
Embellished in many colors for the multitude,
Are obliterated; and I look into my depths
And am astonished – as is the boundless sky
When at the close of the day, at sunset’s obsequies,
It gazes at earth’s darkling landscapes and is awed
By the luminous self-projection of its stars.

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