Things throng and laugh loud in the sky; the sands and dust dance <br />and whirl like children. Man's mind is aroused by their shouts; his <br />thoughts long to be the playmates of things. <br />Our dreams, drifting in the stream of the vague, stretch their <br />arms to clutch the earth, -their efforts stiffen into bricks and <br />stones, and thus the city of man is built. <br />Voices come swarming from the past,-seeking answers from the <br />living moments. Beats of their wings fill the air with tremulous <br />shadows, and sleepless thoughts in our minds leave their nests to <br />take flight across the desert of dimness, in the passionate thirst <br />for forms. They are lampless pilgrims, seeking the shore of light, <br />to find themselves in things. They will be lured into poets's <br />rhymes, they will be housed in the towers of the town not yet <br />planned, they have their call to arms from the battle fields of the <br />future, they are bidden to join hands in the strife of peace yet <br />to come.<br /><br />Sir Rabindranath Tagore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lover-s-gifts-lviii-things-throng-and-laugh-2/
