MY heart cries aloud for the house of my lover; the open road and the shelter of a roof are all one to her who has lost the city of her Beloved.
My heart finds no joy in anything: my mind and my body are distraught. His palace has a million gates, but there is a vast ocean between it and me: How shall I cross it, O friend? for endless is the outstretching of the path.
How wondrously this lyre is wrought! When its strings are rightly strung, it maddens the heart: but when the keys are broken and the strings are loosened, none regard it more.
I tell my friends with laughter that I must go to my Beloved in the morning; They are angry, for they do not want me to go, and they say: "She thinks she has gained such dominion over her Beloved that she can have whatsoever she wishes; and therefore she is impatient to go to him."
Dear friend, lift my veil lightly now; for this is the night of love.
Kabîr says: "Listen to me! My heart is eager to meet my lover: I lie sleepless upon my bed. Remember me early in the morning!"
~ Kabir The Songs of Kabir, tr. by Rabindranath Tagore Art by Natalia Tejera |
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