WHERE the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet,
Through echoing forest and echoing street,
With lutes in our hands ever-singing we roam,
All men are our kindred, the world is our home.
Our lays are of cities whose lustre is shed,
The laughter and beauty of women long dead;
The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings,
And happy and simple and sorrowful things.
What hope shall we gather, what dreams shall we sow?
Where the wind calls our wandering footsteps we go.
No love bids us tarry, no joy bids us wait:
The voice of the wind is the voice of our fate.
written by Sarojini Naidu, published on Thu 08.20.2009 at 04:45
UNWILLING priestess in thy cruel fane,
Long hast thou held me, pitiless god of Pain,
Bound to thy worship by reluctant vows,
written by Sarojini Naidu, published on Fri 07.24.2009 at 16:02
In noon-tide hours, O Love, secure and strong,
I need thee not; mad dreams are mine to bind
written by Sarojini Naidu, published on Fri 07.17.2009 at 00:06
QUEEN GULNAAR sat on her ivory bed,
Around her countless treasures were spread;
Her chamber walls were richly inlaid
written by Sarojini Naidu, published on Mon 02.23.2009 at 03:07
LORD BUDDHA, on thy Lotus-throne,
With praying eyes and hands elate,
What mystic rapture dost thou own,
Immutable and ultimate?
written by Sarojini Naidu, published on Wed 02.11.2009 at 15:08
SHALT thou be conquered of a human fate
My liege, my lover, whose imperial head
Hath never bent in sorrow of defeat?