In the dusky path of a dream I went to seek the
love who was mine in a former life.
Her house stood at the end of a desolate street.
In the evening breeze her pet peacock sat drowsing on
its perch, and the pigeons were silent in their corner.
She set her lamp down by the portal and stood before me.
She raised her large eyes to my face and mutely
asked, “Are you well, my friend?”
I tried to answer, but our language had been lost and forgotten.
I thought and thought; our names would not come to my mind.
Tears shone in her eyes.
She held up her right hand to me. I took it and stood silent.
Our lamp had flickered in the evening breeze and died.
Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941)