Ranbindranath Tagore

Hands cling to hands and eyes linger eyes;

thus begins the record of our hearts.

it’s the moonlit night of March ;

the sweet smile of henna is in the air;

my flute lies on the earth neglected
and your garland of flowers is unfinished ,

This love between you and me is simple as a song .

your veil of the saffron colour makes my eyes drunk .

the jasmine wreath that you wove me thrill to my hearts like praise .

it’s a game of giving and withoutholding ,revealing and screening again ;

some smile and some little shyness,

and some sweet useless struggles,

this love between you and me is simple as a song .

no mystery beyond the present ;

no striving for the impossible ;

no shadownbehind the charm ;

no groping in the depth of the dark ,

this love between you and me is simple as a song .

we don’t raise our hands to the void for things beyond hope.

it’s enough what we give and we get

we have not crushed the joy to the utmost to wring from it the wine of pain .

this love between you and me is simple as a song .