Can it be?

My voice is choked today; I have no music in my flute:

God, again and again through the ages you have sent messengers
To this pitiless world:
They have said, “Forgive everyone,” they have said,
“Love one another—Rid your hearts of evil.”
They are revered and remembered, yet still in these dark days
We turn them away with hollow greetings, from outside the doors
of our houses.

And meanwhile I see secretive hatred murdering the helpless
Under the cover of night;
And Justice weeping silently and furtively at power misused,
No hope of redress.
I see young men working themselves into a frenzy,
In agony dashing their heads against stone to no avail.

My voice is choked today; I have no music in my flute:
Black moonless night
Has imprisoned my world, plunged it into nightmare.
And this is why
With tears in my eyes, I ask:

Those who have poisoned your air, those who have
extinguished your light,
Can it be that you have forgiven them? Can it be
that you love them?

Rabindranath Tagore