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Literature is portrayed by Tagore as the field for the meeting of the poet and this "other," be it Self or God. What is received by the poet as song is an inner plenitude that overflows from his intuition of wholeness. One further exposition of the same theme is made by Jorge Luis Borges in the poised and meditative rhythms of "Matthew XXV:30":

From the unseen horizon
And from the very centre of my being,
An infinite voice pronounced these things
Things, not words.
This is my feeble translation,
Time-bound, of what was a single limitless Word:

"Stars, bread, libraries of East and West,
Playing cards, chessboards, galleries, skylights, cellars,
A human body to walk with on the earth,
Fingernails, growing at night-time and in death,
Shadows for forgetting, mirrors busily multiplying,
Cascades in music, gentlest of all time's shapes,
Borders of Brazil, Uruguay, horses and mornings,
A bronze weight, a copy of the Grettir Saga,
Algebra and fire, the charge at Junin in your blood,
 Days more crowded than Balzac, scent of the honeysuckle,
Love and the imminence of love and intolerable remembering,
Dreams like buried treasure, generous luck,
And memory itself, where a glance can make men dizzy?
All this was given to you and with it
The ancient nourishment of heroes?
Treachery, defeat, humiliation.
In vain have oceans been squandered on you, in vain
The sun, wonderfully seen through Whitman's eyes.
You have used up the years and they have used up you,
And still, and still, you have not written the poem. [21]