Thursday, 16 June 2011

Tell me, O Kabir

Tell me, 
O Swan, 
your ancient tale.

From what land do you come, 

O Swan
to what shore will you fly?

Where would you take your rest, 

O Swan,
and what do you seek?

Even this morning,
O Swan,
follow me!

There is a land where no doubt nor sorrow have rule:
where the terror of Death is no more.

There the woods of spring are a-bloom,
and the fragrant scent

"He is I" is borne on the wind:
There the bee of the heart is deeply immersed,
and desires no other joy.


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