Whey are those tears in your eyes, my child?
How horrid of them to be always scolding you for nothing!
You have stained your fingers and face with ink while writing-
is that why they call you dirty?
O, fie! Would they dare to call the full moon dirty because
it has smudged its face with ink?
For every little trifle they blame you, my child. They are
ready to find fault for nothing.
You tore your clothes while playing-is that why they call you
O, fie! What would they call an autumn morning that smiles
through its ragged clouds?
Take no heed of what they say to you, my child.
They make a long list of your misdeeds.
Everybody knows how you love sweet things-is that why they
call you greedy?
O, fie! What then would they call us who love you?
Rabindranath Tagore's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Defamation by Rabindranath Tagore )
Did you read them?
Poem of the Day
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- A Thought, Robert Louis Stevenson
- On the Ning Nang Nong, Spike Milligan
- Not Waving but Drowning, Stevie Smith
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Tarantella, Hilaire Belloc
- First Day at School, Roger McGough
- No Man Is An Island, John Donne
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
(16 April 1918 – 27 February 2002)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)