I live by the wayside alone
When passing by
The things you left for me
Whatever be their value
They are not enough to repay my dues.
One often loves to give or get but fails
The key to that treasure is with someone unknown
Inscrutable are his ways '
All on a sudden
That priceless gift once filled your hands
As you passed by you hardly noticed.
The fruit that had fallen under the tree
Was the result of a sudden gust of wind
It satisfied your hunger
You just smiled for a while
If you want to pay more
Then I must tell you
It cannot be priced
And that is its value.
It is even better
If you go far away or forget '
In acknowledgement of a gift
Don't condescend to give something in return
And demean the giver.
Translation of the poem - Mulya - from the collection Bithika by Rabindranath Tagore.
To view the original poem visit