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.
(Sarojini Naidu)
More Poetry from Sarojini Naidu:
Sarojini Naidu Poems based on Topics: Dreams, Kings & Queens, World, War & Peace, Laughter, Fate & Destiny, Man, Woman, Hope, Home, Cities- In The Bazaars of Hyderabad (Sarojini Naidu Poems)
- A Love Song from the North (Sarojini Naidu Poems)
- Indian Dancers (Sarojini Naidu Poems)
- The Poet's Love-Song (Sarojini Naidu Poems)
- A Rajput Love Song (Sarojini Naidu Poems)
- Indian Love Song (Sarojini Naidu Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Man Poems, World Poems, War & Peace Poems, Dreams Poems, Kings & Queens Poems, Hope Poems, Home Poems, Fate & Destiny Poems, Woman Poems, Cities Poems, Laughter PoemsBased on Keywords: lutes