Barely do I know about him,
A distant name from days of old,
In school, we sang his anthem's hymn,
A tale of Bengal's heart and soul.
But then, a twist of fate's decree,
From distant lands, I took my flight,
To shores where English poetry,
Unveiled its beauty, pure and bright.
In libraries of a foreign land,
I delved into the poet's lore,
Shakespeare's sonnets, grand and grand,
And Frost's path not trodden before.
A name appeared in Google's space,
Tagore, from India's sacred soil,
A Nobel soul with gifted grace,
His Gitanjali made hearts uncoil.
He penned the anthem that we sing,
For India, Bangladesh, and more,
A polymath in arts took the wing,
A Renaissance man to the core.
Shantiniketan, his dream's abode,
Where minds and nature intertwined,
His verses, like a river, flowed,
Through time and space, forever bind.
"The Gardener" in hands I held,
A silent room, the page revealed,
A voice from the past, its echo swelled,
His words are like truth, forever sealed.
"Who are you, reader?" he inquired,
Across the span of ages vast,
His question, like a spark, transpired,
A conversation through time's glass.
I gathered memories, fragrant, sweet,
From vanished blooms of years gone by,
His verses made my heart complete,
A living joy, no longer shy.
And as his verses touched my soul,
A change ignited deep within,
In free verse's realm, I found my goal,
A poet's journey to begin.
Through Tagore's eyes, I saw the world,
Connected with the earth's embrace,
In nature's beauty, life unfurled,
In every line, I found my place.
