|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.
"Listen to me!
My heart is eager to meet my lover:
I lie sleepless upon my bed.
Remember me early in the morning!"
The Songs of Kabir,
tr. by Rabindranath Tagore
Art by Natalia Tejera