वैसे रवीन्द्रनाथ सूफी रहस्यवाद और वैष्णव काव्य से प्रभावित थे । फिर भी संवेदना चित्रण में वे इन कवियों को अनुकृति नहीं लगते । जैसे मनुष्य के प्रति प्रेम अनजाने ही परमात्मा के प्रति प्रेम में तब्दील हो जाता है । वे नहीं मानते कि भगवान किसी आदम बीज की तरह है । उनके लिए प्रेम है प्रारंभ और परमात्मा है अंत जब पहले पहल गीतांजलि का अनुवाद आया अंग्रेजी में तब प्रेम और शांति का संदेश के लिए इसका पश्चिम ने जबर्दस्त स्वागत किया । वह दौर ही ऐसा था ।
एक ऐसे अबोध युवक की कहानी जो पहले अपने प्रेम को समझ नहीं पाया और जब जाना-समझा तो बहुत देर हो चुकी थी। फिर एक ही रात में उसका पूरा जीवन सार्थक कैसे बन जाता है...?
पति अपनी पत्नी के प्रेम में आसक्त है; पत्नी अनजान है या अबोध वह नहीं जानता... पर पत्नी का मन जीतने के लिये अटल है, आत्म-संयमित है; वह अपने कर्त्तव्य एवं अधिकार समझता है और दाम्पत्य जीवन की नैतिक मर्यादाएं भी... क्या ऐसा एक तरफा प्रेम सफल हो सकता है? एक ऐसे पात्र की कहानी जिसकी मृत माँ अपने पुत्र के नैतिक मार्ग से विचलित होते ही उसके कवच का रूप धारण कर लेती है।
His Creativity emerged from his soul. Even though he wrote two of India's national songs. he has never been the traditional nationalist. A poet's poet, he is a maker of not only modern Indian literature, but also modern Indian mind and civilization. His world-wide acclaim as a social, political, religious and aesthetic thinker makes him a living presence. He has written many novels, poems and short stories. Our book is also one of his amazing writings.
The sky which gives light is blue, and my mother's face was dark, but she had the radiance of holiness, and her beauty would put to shame all the vanity of the beautiful.
A collection of over one hundred inspirational poems, Gitanjali covers the breadth of life's experiences, from the quite pleasure of observing children at play to man's struggle with his god.
Publisher : General Press
Thus, over Life's outward aspect passes the series of events, and within is being painted a set of pictures. The two correspond but are not one.
We do not get the leisure to view thoroughly this studio within us. Portions of it now and then catch our eye, but the greater part remains out of sight in the darkness. Why the ever-busy painter is painting; when he will have done; for what gallery his pictures are destined—who can tell?
Some years ago, on being questioned as to the events of my past life, I had occasion to pry into this picture-chamber. I had thought to be content with selecting some few materials for my Life's story. I then discovered, as I opened the door, that Life's memories are not Life's history, but the original work of an unseen Artist. The variegated colours scattered about are not reflections of outside lights, but belong to the painter himself, and come passion-tinged from his heart; thereby unfitting the record on the canvas for use as evidence in a court of law.
But though the attempt to gather precise history from memory's storehouse may be fruitless, there is a fascination in looking over the pictures, a fascination which cast its spell on me.
The road over which we journey, the wayside shelter in which we pause, are not pictures while yet we travel—they are too necessary, too obvious. When, however, before turning into the evening resthouse, we look back upon the cities, fields, rivers and hills which we have been through in Life's morning, then, in the light of the passing day, are they pictures indeed. Thus, when my opportunity came, did I look back, and was engrossed.