“Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness of this rythm?
to be tossed and lost and broken in the whirl of this fearful joy?
All things rush on, they stop not, they look not behind,
no power can hold them back, they rush on.
Keeping steps with that restless, rapid music, seasons
come dancing and pass away – colours, tunes, and perfumes
pour in endless cascades in the abounding joy that scatters
and gives up and dies every moment.”
?Rabindranath Tagore (1861 – 1941)
Excerpt from: Gitanjali