Tuesday
Since yesterday’s post was about my three granddaughters, today I share a Rabindranath Tagore poem in honor of their 8-month-old little brother, whom I spent time yesterday holding and watching. Young Ocean has been crawling for two weeks and is exhilarated by the world that has opened to him.
As I’m traveling, I’m only vaguely aware of the news, including the new horrors that are being uncovered at our southern border. With Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore, I wonder whether taking my young grandson amongst sadistic border control agents would restore their humanity.
“Child Angel” is delivered as a prayer. When Tagore describes the words of the cruel as “hidden knives thirsting for blood,” I think of those agents who reportedly told migrant women to drink from toilets if they were thirsty.
That a child might strike such people as “a flame of light…unflickering and pure” is a beautiful thought, however improbable.
The Child Angel
Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my child,
unflickering and pure, and delight them into silence.
They are cruel in their greed and their envy,
their words are like hidden knives thirsting for blood.
Go and stand amidst their scowling hearts, my child,
and let your gentle eyes fall upon them like the
forgiving peace of the evening over the strife of the day.
Let them see your face, my child, and thus know the
meaning of all things, let them love you and love each other.
Come and take your seat in the bosom of the limitless, my child.
At sunrise open and raise your heart like a blossoming flower,
and at sunset bend your head and in silence
complete the worship of the day.
