The Songs of Kabir

By Rabindranath Tagore

Introduction

The poet Kabir, a selection

from whose songs is here for
the

first time offered to English

readers, is one of the most

interesting personalities in
the history of Indian
mysticism.
 Born in or near Benares, of
Mohammedan parents, and
probably

about the year 1440, be

became in early life a disciple
of the

celebrated Hindu ascetic

Râmânanda. Râmânanda had
brought to

Northern India the religious

revival which Râmânuja, the
great

twelfth-century reformer of
Brâhmanism, had initiated in
the

South. This revival was in part

a reaction against the

increasing formalism of the

orthodox cult, in part an
assertion

of the demands of the heart as

against the intense

intellectualism of the Vedânta

philosophy, the exaggerated
monism

which that philosophy

 proclaimed. It took in
Râmânuja's

preaching the form of an

ardent personal devotion to
the God

Vishnu, as representing the

personal aspect of the Divine
Nature:

that mystical "religion of love"

which everywhere makes its

appearance at a certain level

of spiritual culture, and which

creeds and philosophies are

 powerless to kill.

Though such a devotion is

indigenous in Hinduism, and
finds

expression in many passages

of the Bhagavad Gîtâ, there
was in

its mediæval revival a large

element of syncretism.
Râmânanda,

through whom its spirit is said

to have reached Kabîr,
appears to
 have been a man of wide
religious culture, and full of
missionary

enthusiasm. Living at the

moment in which the
impassioned poetry

and deep philosophy of the

great Persian mystics, Attâr,
Sâdî,

Jalâlu'ddîn Rûmî, and Hâfiz,

were exercising a powerful
influence

on the religious thought of

India, he dreamed of
 reconciling this

intense and personal

Mohammedan mysticism with
the traditional

theology of Brâhmanism.
Some have regarded both
these great

religious leaders as influenced

also by Christian thought and

life: but as this is a point upon

which competent authorities

hold widely divergent views,

its discussion is not attempted
 here.

We may safely assert,

however, that in their
teachings, two--

perhaps three--apparently
antagonistic streams of
intense

spiritual culture met, as

Jewish and Hellenistic
thought met in

the early Christian Church:

and it is one of the
outstanding
 characteristics of Kabîr's
genius that he was able in his
poems

to fuse them into one.

A great religious reformer, the

founder of a sect to which
nearly

a million northern Hindus still

belong, it is yet supremely as
a

mystical poet that Kabîr lives

for us. His fate has been that
of
 many revealers of Reality. A
hater of religious exclusivism,
and

seeking above all things to

initiate men into the liberty of
the

children of God, his followers

have honoured his memory by

re-erecting in a new place the

barriers which he laboured to
cast

down. But his wonderful

songs survive, the
spontaneous
 expressions of his vision and
his love; and it is by these, not

by the didactic teachings

associated with his name, that
he makes

his immortal appeal to the

heart. In these poems a wide
range of

mystical emotion is brought

into play: from the loftiest

abstractions, the most

otherworldly passion for the
Infinite, to
 the most intimate and
personal realization of God,
expressed in

homely metaphors and

religious symbols drawn
indifferently from

Hindu and Mohammedan

belief. It is impossible to say
of their

author that he was Brâhman

or Sûfî, Vedântist or
Vaishnavite.

He is, as he says himself, "at

once the child of Allah and of
Râm."

That Supreme Spirit Whom he

knew and adored, and to
Whose joyous

friendship he sought to induct

the souls of other men,
transcended

whilst He included all

metaphysical categories, all
credal

definitions; yet each

contributed something to the
description of
 that Infinite and Simple
Totality Who revealed
Himself, according

to their measure, to the

faithful lovers of all creeds.

Kabîr's story is surrounded by

contradictory legends, on
none of

which reliance can be placed.

Some of these emanate from a
Hindu,

some from a Mohammedan

source, and claim him by
 turns as a Sûfî

and a Brâhman saint. His

name, however, is practically
a

conclusive proof of Moslem

ancestry: and the most
probable tale is

that which represents him as

the actual or adopted child of
a

Mohammedan weaver of
Benares, the city in which the
chief events
 of his life took place.

In fifteenth-century Benares
the syncretistic tendencies of

Bhakti religion had reached

full development. Sûfîs and
Brâhmans

appear to have met in

disputation: the most spiritual
members of

both creeds frequenting the

teachings of Râmânanda,
whose

reputation was then at its

 height. The boy Kabîr, in
whom the

religious passion was innate,

saw in Râmânanda his
destined

teacher; but knew how slight

were the chances that a
Hindu guru

would accept a Mohammedan

as disciple. He therefore hid
upon the

steps of the river Ganges,

where Râmânanda was
accustomed to
bathe; with the result that the
master, coming down to the
water,

trod upon his body

unexpectedly, and exclaimed
in his

astonishment, "Ram! Ram!"--

the name of the incarnation
under

which he worshipped God.

Kabîr then declared that he
had

received the mantra of

initiation from Râmânanda's
lips, and was

by it admitted to discipleship.
In spite of the protests of

orthodox Brâhmans and

Mohammedans, both equally
annoyed by this

contempt of theological
landmarks, he persisted in his
claim;

thus exhibiting in action that

very principle of religious

synthesis which Râmânanda

 had sought to establish in
thought.

Râmânanda appears to have

accepted him, and though
Mohammedan

legends speak of the famous

Sûfî Pîr, Takkî of Jhansî, as
Kabîr's

master in later life, the Hindu

saint is the only human
teacher

to whom in his songs he

acknowledges indebtedness.
 The little that we know of
Kabîr's life contradicts many
current

ideas concerning the Oriental

mystic. Of the stages of

discipline through which he

passed, the manner in which
his

spiritual genius developed, we

are completely ignorant. He
seems

to have remained for years

the disciple of Râmânanda,
joining in
 the theological and
philosophical arguments
which his master held

with all the great Mullahs and

Brâhmans of his day; and to
this

source we may perhaps trace

his acquaintance with the
terms of

Hindu and Sûfî philosophy. He

may or may not have
submitted to

the traditional education of

 the Hindu or the Sûfî
contemplative:

it is clear, at any rate, that he

never adopted the life of the

professional ascetic, or
retired from the world in
order to

devote himself to bodily

mortifications and the
exclusive pursuit

of the contemplative life. Side

by side with his interior life

of adoration, its artistic

 expression in music and
words--for he

was a skilled musician as well

as a poet--he lived the sane
and

diligent life of the Oriental

craftsman. All the legends
agree

on this point: that Kabîr was a

weaver, a simple and
unlettered

man, who earned his living at

the loom. Like Paul the
tentmaker,
Boehme the cobbler, Bunyan
the tinker, Tersteegen the

ribbon-maker, he knew how to

combine vision and industry;
the

work of his hands helped

rather than hindered the
impassioned

meditation of his heart.

Hating mere bodily
austerities, he was

no ascetic, but a married man,

the father of a family--a
 circumstance which Hindu
legends of the monastic type
vainly

attempt to conceal or explain--

and it was from out of the
heart

of the common life that he

sang his rapturous lyrics of
divine

love. Here his works

corroborate the traditional
story of his

life. Again and again he extols

the life of home, the value and

reality of diurnal existence,

with its opportunities for love
and

renunciation; pouring
contempt--upon the
professional sanctity of

the Yogi, who "has a great

beard and matted locks, and
looks like

a goat," and on all who think

it necessary to flee a world

pervaded by love, joy, and

beauty--the proper theatre of
man's

quest--in order to find that

One Reality Who has "spread
His form

of love throughout all the

world." [Footnote: Cf. Poems
Nos. XXI,

XL, XLIII, LXVI, LXXVI.]

It does not need much

experience of ascetic
literature to

recognize the boldness and

originality of this attitude in
such a

time and place. From the

point of view of orthodox
sanctity,

whether Hindu or
Mohammedan, Kabîr was
plainly a heretic; and his

frank dislike of all

institutional religion, all
external

observance--which was as
thorough and as intense as
that of the
 Quakers themselves--
completed, so far as
ecclesiastical opinion

was concerned, his reputation

as a dangerous man. The
"simple

union" with Divine Reality

which he perpetually extolled,
as alike

the duty and the joy of every

soul, was independent both of
ritual

and of bodily austerities; the

God whom he proclaimed was
"neither

in Kaaba nor in Kailâsh."

Those who sought Him
needed not to go

far; for He awaited discovery

everywhere, more accessible
to "the

washerwoman and the

carpenter" than to the self--
righteous holy man.

[Footnote: Poems I, II, XLI.]

Therefore the whole
apparatus of
 piety, Hindu and Moslem
alike--the temple and mosque,
idol and holy

water, scriptures and priests--

were denounced by this
inconveniently

clear-sighted poet as mere

substitutes for reality; dead
things

intervening between the soul

and its love--

The images are all lifeless,

they cannot speak:
I know, for I have cried aloud
to them.

The Purâna and the Koran are

mere words:

lifting up the curtain, I have

seen.

[Footnote: Poems XLII, LXV,

LXVII.]

This sort of thing cannot be

tolerated by any organized
church;

and it is not surprising that

 Kabîr, having his head-
quarters in

Benares, the very centre of

priestly influence, was
subjected to

considerable persecution. The

well-known legend of the
beautiful

courtesan sent by Brâhmans

to tempt his virtue, and
converted,

like the Magdalen, by her

sudden encounter with the
initiate of a
 higher love, pre serves the
memory of the fear and dislike
with

which he was regarded by the

ecclesiastical powers. Once at

least, after the performance of

a supposed miracle of healing,
he

was brought before the

Emperor Sikandar Lodi, and
charged with

claiming the possession of

divine powers. But Sikandar
 Lodi, a

ruler of considerable culture,

was tolerant of the
eccentricities

of saintly persons belonging

to his own faith. Kabîr, being
of

Mohammedan birth, was

outside the authority of the
Brâhmans, and

technically classed with the

Sûfîs, to whom great
theological
 latitude was allowed.
Therefore, though he was
banished in the

interests of peace from

Benares, his life was spared.
This seems

to have happened in 1495,

when he was nearly sixty
years of age;

it is the last event in his

career of which we have
definite

knowledge. Thenceforth he
appears to have moved about
 amongst

various cities of northern

India, the centre of a group of

disciples; continuing in exile

that life of apostle and poet of

love to which, as he declares

in one of his songs, he was
destined

"from the beginning of time."

In 1518, an old man, broken
in

health, and with hands so

feeble that he could no longer
 make the

music which he loved, he died

at Maghar near Gorakhpur.

A beautiful legend tells us

that after his death his

Mohammedan and Hindu

disciples disputed the
possession of his

body; which the

Mohammedans wished to
bury, the Hindus to burn.

As they argued together,

Kabîr appeared before them,
 and told

them to lift the shroud and

look at that which lay
beneath. They

did so, and found in the place

of the corpse a heap of
flowers;

half of which were buried by

the Mohammedans at Maghar,
and half

carried by the Hindus to the

holy city of Benares to be
burned--
 fitting conclusion to a life
which had made fragrant the
most

beautiful doctrines of two

great creeds.

II

The poetry of mysticism might

be defined on the one hand as
a

temperamental reaction to the

vision of Reality: on the other,
as

a form of prophecy. As it is the

 special vocation of the

mystical consciousness to
mediate between two orders,
going out

in loving adoration towards

God and coming home to tell
the

secrets of Eternity to other

men; so the artistic self-
expression

of this consciousness has also

a double character. It is love-

poetry, but love-poetry which

 is often written with a
missionary

intention.

Kabîr's songs are of this kind:

out-births at once of rapture
and

of charity. Written in the

popular Hindi, not in the
literary

tongue, they were deliberately

addressed--like the vernacular

poetry of Jacopone da Todì

and Richard Rolle--to the
 people rather

than to the professionally

religious class; and all must
be struck

by the constant employment

in them of imagery drawn
from the

common life, the universal

experience. It is by the
simplest

metaphors, by constant
appeals to needs, passions,
relations which
 all men understand--the
bridegroom and bride, the
guru and

disciple, the pilgrim, the

farmer, the migrant bird-- that
he

drives home his intense

conviction of the reality of the
soul's

intercourse with the

Transcendent. There are in
his universe no

fences between the "natural"

and "supernatural" worlds;
 everything

is a part of the creative Play

of God, and therefore--even in
its

humblest details--capable of
revealing the Player's mind.

This willing acceptance of the

here-and-now as a means of

representing supernal
realities is a trait common to
the greatest

mystics. For them, when they

have achieved at last the true
theopathetic state, all aspects
of the universe possess equal

authority as sacramental
declarations of the Presence
of God; and

their fearless employment of

homely and physical symbols--
often

startling and even revolting to

the unaccustomed taste--is in

direct proportion to the

exaltation of their spiritual
life. The
works of the great Sûfîs, and
amongst the Christians of
Jacopone

da Todì, Ruysbroeck, Boehme,

abound in illustrations of this
law.

Therefore we must not be

surprised to find in Kabîr's
songs--his

desperate attempts to
communicate his ecstasy and
persuade other

men to share it--a constant

juxtaposition of concrete and

metaphysical language; swift

alternations between the most

intensely anthropomorphic,
the most subtly philosophical,
ways of

apprehending man's
communion with the Divine.
The need for this

alternation, and its entire

naturalness for the mind
which

employs it, is rooted in his

 concept, or vision, of the
Nature of

God; and unless we make

some attempt to grasp this,
we shall not

go far in our understanding of

his poems.

Kabîr belongs to that small

group of supreme mystics--
amongst

whom St. Augustine,

Ruysbroeck, and the Sûfî poet
Jalâlu'ddîn
 Rûmî are perhaps the chief--
who have achieved that which
we might

call the synthetic vision of

God. These have resolved the

perpetual opposition between

the personal and impersonal,
the

transcendent and immanent,

static and dynamic aspects of
the

Divine Nature; between the

Absolute of philosophy and
the "sure
 true Friend" of devotional
religion. They have done this,
not by

taking these apparently

incompatible concepts one
after the

other; but by ascending to a

height of spiritual intuition at

which they are, as Ruysbroeck

said, "melted and merged in
the

Unity," and perceived as the

completing opposites of a
 perfect

Whole. This proceeding

entails for them--and both
Kabîr and

Ruysbroeck expressly
acknowledge it--a universe of
three orders:

Becoming, Being, and that

which is "More than Being,"
i.e., God.

[Footnote: Nos. VII and XLIX.]

God is here felt to be not the

final abstraction, but the one

 actuality. He inspires,
supports,

indeed inhabits, both the

durational, conditioned, finite
world

of Becoming and the

unconditioned, non-
successional, infinite

world of Being; yet utterly

transcends them both. He is
the

omnipresent Reality, the "All-

pervading" within Whom "the
worlds
are being told like beads." In
His personal aspect He is the

"beloved Fakir," teaching and

companioning each soul.
Considered

as Immanent Spirit, He is "the

Mind within the mind." But all

these are at best partial

aspects of His nature,
mutually

corrective: as the Persons in

the Christian doctrine of the
 Trinity--to which this
theological diagram bears a
striking

resemblance--represent
different and compensating
experiences of

the Divine Unity within which

they are resumed. As
Ruysbroeck

discerned a plane of reality

upon which "we can speak no
more of

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,

but only of One Being, the
 very

substance of the Divine

Persons"; so Kabîr says that
"beyond both

the limited and the limitless is

He, the Pure Being."
[Footnote:

No. VII.]

Brahma, then, is the Ineffable

Fact compared with which
"the

distinction of the Conditioned

from the Unconditioned is but
 a

word": at once the utterly

transcendent One of
Absolutist

philosophy, and the personal

Lover of the individual soul--

"common to all and special to

each," as one Christian mystic
has

it. The need felt by Kabîr for

both these ways of describing

Reality is a proof of the

richness and balance of his
 spiritual

experience; which neither

cosmic nor anthropomorphic
symbols,

taken alone, could express.

More absolute than the
Absolute,

more personal than the

human mind, Brahma
therefore exceeds

whilst He includes all the

concepts of philosophy, all the

passionate intuitions of the

 heart. He is the Great
Affirmation,

the font of energy, the source

of life and love, the unique

satisfaction of desire. His

creative word is the Om or

"Everlasting Yea." The

negative philosophy which
strips from the

Divine Nature all Its

attributes and defining Him
only by that

which He is not--reduces Him

 to an "Emptiness," is
abhorrent to

this most vital of poets.--

Brahma, he says, "may never
be found

in abstractions." He is the
One Love who Pervades the
world.,

discerned in His fullness only

by the eyes of love; and those
who

know Him thus share, though

they may never tell, the
joyous and
 ineffable secret of the
universe. [Footnote: Nos. VII,
XXVI,

LXXVI, XC.]

Now Kabîr, achieving this

synthesis between the
personal and

cosmic aspects of the Divine

Nature, eludes the three great

dangers which threaten

mystical religion.

First, he escapes the

excessive emotionalism, the
tendency to

an exclusively
anthropomorphic devotion,
which results from an

unrestricted cult of Divine

Personality, especially under
an

incarnational form; seen in

India in the exaggerations of

Krishna worship, in Europe in

the sentimental
extravagances of
 certain Christian saints.

Next, he is protected from the

soul-destroying conclusions of

pure monism, inevitable if its

logical implications are
pressed

home: that is, the identity of

substance between God and
the

soul, with its corollary of the

total absorption of that soul in

the Being of God as the goal

of the spiritual life. For the
 thorough-going monist the
soul, in so far as it is real, is

substantially identical with

God; and the true object of

existence is the making patent

of this latent identity, the

realization which finds

expression in the Vedântist
formula "That

art thou." But Kabîr says that

Brahma and the creature are
"ever
distinct, yet ever united"; that
the wise man knows the
spiritual

as well as the material world

to "be no more than His
footstool."

[Footnote: Nos. VII and IX.]

The soul's union with Him is a
love

union, a mutual inhabitation;

that essentially dualistic
relation

which all mystical religion

expresses, not a self-
 mergence which

leaves no place for

personality. This eternal
distinction, the

mysterious union-in-
separateness of God and the
soul, is a

necessary doctrine of all sane

mysticism; for no scheme
which

fails to find a place for it can

represent more than a
fragment of
 that soul's intercourse with
the spiritual world. Its
affirmation

was one of the distinguishing

features of the Vaishnavite

reformation preached by
Râmânuja; the principle of
which had

descended through
Râmânanda to Kabîr.

Last, the warmly human and

direct apprehension of God as
the
supreme Object of love, the
soul's comrade, teacher, and

bridegroom, which is so
passionately and frequently
expressed in

Kabîr's poems, balances and

controls those abstract
tendencies

which are inherent in the

metaphysical side of his vision
of

Reality: and prevents it from

degenerating into that sterile
 worship of intellectual
formulæ which became the
curse of the

Vedântist school. For the mere

intellectualist, as for the mere

pietist, he has little

approbation. [Footnote: Cf.
especially

Nos. LIX, LXVII, LXXV, XC,

XCI.] Love is throughout his

"absolute sole Lord": the

unique source of the more
abundant life
 which he enjoys, and the
common factor which unites
the finite

and infinite worlds. All is

soaked in love: that love
which he

described in almost Johannine

language as the "Form of
God."

The whole of creation is the

Play of the Eternal Lover; the

living, changing, growing

expression of Brahma's love
and joy.
 As these twin passions
preside over the generation of
human life,

so "beyond the mists of

pleasure and pain" Kabîr finds
them

governing the creative acts of

God. His manifestation is love;

His activity is joy. Creation

springs from one glad act of

affirmation: the Everlasting

Yea, perpetually uttered
within the
 depths of the Divine Nature.
[Footnote: Nos. XVII, XXVI,
LXXVI,

LXXXII.] In accordance with

this concept of the universe as
a

Love-Game which eternally

goes forward, a progressive

manifestation of Brahma--one
of the many notions which he
adopted

from the common stock of

Hindu religious ideas, and
 illuminated

by his poetic genius--

movement, rhythm, perpetual
change, forms

an integral part of Kabîr's

vision of Reality. Though the

Eternal and Absolute is ever

present to his consciousness,
yet

his concept of the Divine

Nature is essentially dynamic.
It is

by the symbols of motion that

he most often tries to convey
it to

us: as in his constant

reference to dancing, or the
strangely

modern picture of that

Eternal Swing of the Universe
which is

"held by the cords of love."

[Footnote: No. XVI.]

It is a marked characteristic
of mystical literature that the

great contemplatives, in their

 effort to convey to us the
nature

of their communion with the

supersensuous, are inevitably
driven

to employ some form of

sensuous imagery: coarse and
inaccurate as

they know such imagery to be,

even at the best. Our normal
human

consciousness is so
completely committed to
dependence on the
 senses, that the fruits of
intuition itself are
instinctively

referred to them. In that

intuition it seems to the
mystics that

all the dim cravings and

partial apprehensions of sense
find

perfect fulfilment. Hence their

constant declaration that they

see the uncreated light, they

hear the celestial
 melody, they taste the
sweetness of the Lord, they
know an

ineffable fragrance, they feel

the very contact of love. "Him

verily seeing and fully feeling,

Him spiritually hearing and
Him

delectably smelling and

sweetly swallowing," as Julian
of Norwich

has it. In those amongst them

who develop psycho-sensorial
automatisms, these parallels
between sense and spirit may
present

themselves to consciousness
in the form of hallucinations:
as the

light seen by Suso, the music

heard by Rolle, the celestial

perfumes which filled St.

Catherine of Siena's cell, the
physical

wounds felt by St. Francis and

St. Teresa. These are
 excessive

dramatizations of the
symbolism under which the
mystic tends

instinctively to represent his

spiritual intuition to the
surface

consciousness. Here, in the

special sense-perception
which he

feels to be most expressive of

Reality, his peculiar

idiosyncrasies come out.

 Now Kabîr, as we might
expect in one whose reactions
to the

spiritual order were so wide

and various, uses by turn all
the

symbols of sense. He tells us

that he has "seen without
sight"

the effulgence of Brahma,

tasted the divine nectar, felt
the

ecstatic contact of Reality,

 smelt the fragrance of the
heavenly

flowers. But he was

essentially a poet and
musician: rhythm and

harmony were to him the

garments of beauty and truth.
Hence in

his lyrics he shows himself to

be, like Richard Rolle, above
all

things a musical mystic.

Creation, he says again and
again, is
 full of music: it is music. At
the heart of the Universe

"white music is blossoming":

love weaves the melody,
whilst

renunciation beats the time. It

can be heard in the home as
well

as in the heavens; discerned

by the ears of common men as
well as

by the trained senses of the

ascetic. Moreover, the body of
every man is a lyre on which
Brahma, "the source of all
music,"

plays. Everywhere Kabîr

discerns the "Unstruck Music
of the

Infinite"--that celestial melody

which the angel played to St.

Francis, that ghostly

symphony which filled the
soul of Rolle

with ecstatic joy. [Footnote:

Nos. XVII, XVIII, XXXIX, XLI,
 LIV,

LXXVI, LXXXIII, LXXXIX,

XCVII.] The one figure which
he adopts

from the Hindu Pantheon and

constantly uses, is that of
Krishna

the Divine Flute Player.

[Footnote: Nos. L, LIII,
LXVIII.] He

sees the supernal music, too,

in its visual embodiment, as

rhythmical movement: that

 mysterious dance of the
universe before

the face of Brahma, which is

at once an act of worship and
an

expression of the infinite

rapture of the Immanent God.'

Yet in this wide and rapturous

vision of the universe Kabîr

never loses touch with diurnal

existence, never forgets the

common life. His feet are

firmly planted upon earth; his
 lofty

and passionate apprehensions

are perpetually controlled by
the

activity of a sane and vigorous

intellect, by the alert

commonsense so often found

in persons of real mystical
genius.

The constant insistence on

simplicity and directness, the
hatred

of all abstractions and

 philosophizings,[Footnote:
Nos. XXVI,

XXXII, LXXVI] the ruthless

criticism of external religion:
these

are amongst his most marked

characteristics. God is the
Root

whence all manifestations,

"material" and "spiritual,"
alike

proceed; [Footnote: Nos.

LXXV, LXXVIII, LXXX, XC.]
and God is
 the only need of
man--"happiness shall be
yours when you come to

the Root." [Footnote: No.

LXXX.] Hence to those who
keep their

eye on the "one thing

needful," denominations,
creeds, ceremonies,

the conclusions of philosophy,

the disciplines of asceticism,
are

matters of comparative
indifference. They represent
merely the

different angles from which

the soul may approach that
simple

union with Brahma which is

its goal; and are useful only in
so

faras they contribute to this

consummation. So thorough-
going is

Kabîr's eclecticism, that he

seems by turns Vedântist and
 Vaishnavite, Pantheist and
Transcendentalist, Brâhman
and Sûfî.

In the effort to tell the truth

about that ineffable
apprehension,

so vast and yet so near, which

controls his life, he seizes and

twines together--as he might

have woven together
contrasting

threads upon his loom--

symbols and ideas drawn from
the most
 violent and conflicting
philosophies and faiths. All
are needed,

if he is ever to suggest the

character of that One whom
the

Upanishad called "the Sun-

coloured Being who is beyond
this

Darkness": as all the colours

of the spectrum are needed if
we

would demonstrate the simple

richness of white light. In thus

adapting traditional materials

to his own use he follows a
method

common amongst the mystics;

who seldom exhibit any
special love

for originality of form. They

will pour their wine into
almost

any vessel that comes to

hand: generally using by
preference--and
lifting to new levels of beauty
and significance--the religious
or

philosophic formulæ current

in their own day. Thus we find
that

some of Kabîr's finest poems

have as their subjects the

commonplaces of Hindu
philosophy and religion: the
Lîlâ or Sport of

God, the Ocean of Bliss, the

Bird of the Soul, Mâyâ, the
Hundred-
 petalled Lotus, and the
"Formless Form." Many,
again, are soaked

in Sûfî imagery and feeling.

Others use as their material
the

ordinary surroundings and

incidents of Indian life: the
temple bells,

the ceremony of the lamps,

marriage, suttee, pilgrimage,
the

characters of the seasons; all

 felt by him in their mystical
aspect,

as sacraments of the soul's

relation with Brahma. In many
of these

a particularly beautiful and

intimate feeling for Nature is
shown.

[Footnote: Nos. XV, XXIII,

LXVII, LXXXVII, XCVII.]

In the collection of songs here

translated there will be found

examples which illustrate

nearly every aspect of Kabîr's
thought,

and all the fluctuations of the

mystic's emotion: the ecstasy,

the despair, the still beatitude,

the eager self-devotion, the

flashes of wide illumination,

the moments of intimate love.
His

wide and deep vision of the

universe, the "Eternal Sport"
of

creation (LXXXII), the worlds

being "told like beads" within
the

Being of God (XIV, XVI, XVII,

LXXVI), is here seen balanced
by

his lovely and delicate sense

of intimate communion with
the

Divine Friend, Lover, Teacher

of the soul (X, XI, XXIII, XXXV,
LI,

LXXXV, LXXXVI, LXXXVIII,

XCII, XCIII; above all, the
beautiful
 poem XXXIV). As these
apparently paradoxical views
of Reality

are resolved in Brâhma, so all

other opposites are reconciled
in

Him: bondage and liberty, love

and renunciation, pleasure
and pain

(XVII, XXV, XL, LXXIX). Union

with Him is the one thing that

matters to the soul, its destiny

and its need (LI, I, II, LIV,
 LXX,

LXXIV, XCIII, XCVI); and this

union, this discovery of God,
is the

simplest and most natural of

all things, if we would but
grasp it

(XLI, XLVI, LVI, LXXII, LXXVI,

LXXVIII, XCVII). The union,
however,

is brought about by love, not

by knowledge or ceremonial
observances
(XXXVIII, LIV, LV, LIX, XCI);
and the apprehension which
that union

confers is ineffable--"neither
This nor That," as Ruysbroeck
has it

(IX, XLVI, LXXVI). Real

worship and communion is in
Spirit and in

Truth (XL, XLI, LVI, LXIII,

LXV, LXX), therefore idolatry
is an

insult to the Divine Lover

(XLII, LXIX) and the devices
 of

professional sanctity are

useless apart from charity and
purity

of soul (LIV, LXV, LXVI). Since

all things, and especially the

heart of man, are God-

inhabited, God-possessed
(XXVI, LVI, LXXVI,

LXXXIX, XCVII), He may best

be found in the here-and-now:
in the

normal. human, bodily

 existence, the "mud" of
material life (III,

IV, VI, XXI, XXXIX, XL, XLIII,

XLVIII, LXXII). "We can reach
the

goal without crossing the

road" (LXXVI)--not the cloister
but the

home is the proper theatre of

man's efforts: and if he cannot
find

God there, he need not hope

for success by going farther
afield.
"In the home is reality." There
love and detachment,
bondage and

freedom, joy and pain play by

turns upon the soul; and it is
from

their conflict that the

Unstruck Music of the Infinite
proceeds.

Kabîr says: "None but Brahma

can evoke its melodies."

"This version of Kabîr's songs

is chiefly the work of
Mr. Rabîndranâth Tagore, the
trend of whose mystical
genius makes

him--as all who read these

poems will see--a peculiarly

sympathetic interpreter of
Kabîr's vision and thought. It
has

been based upon the printed

Hindî text with Bengali
translation

of Mr. Kshiti Mohan Sen; who

has gathered from many
 sources--

sometimes from books and

manuscripts, sometimes from
the lips of

wandering ascetics and

minstrels--a large collection of
poems

and hymns to which Kabîr's

name is attached, and
carefully

sifted the authentic songs

from the many spurious works
now
 attributed to him. These
painstaking labours alone
have made

the present undertaking

possible.

The reference of the headlines

of the poems is to:

Sântiniketana; Kabîr by Srî

Kshitimohan Sen, 4 parts,

Brahmacharyâsrama, Bolpur,
1910-1911.

I-X
 I. 13. mo ko kahân dhûnro
bande

O servant, where dost thou

seek Me?

Lo! I am beside thee.

I am neither in temple nor in

mosque: I am neither in
Kaaba nor

in Kailash:

Neither am I in rites and

ceremonies, nor in Yoga and

renunciation.
If thou art a true seeker, thou
shalt at once see Me: thou
shalt

meet Me in a moment of time.

Kabîr says, "O Sadhu! God is

the breath of all breath."

II

I. 16. Santan jât na pûcho

nirguniyân

It is needless to ask of a saint

the caste to which he belongs;
For the priest, the warrior. the
tradesman, and all the

thirty-six castes, alike are

seeking for God.

It is but folly to ask what the

caste of a saint may be;

The barber has sought God,

the washerwoman, and the
carpenter--

Even Raidas was a seeker

after God.

The Rishi Swapacha was a

tanner by caste.
 Hindus and Moslems alike
have achieved that End,
where remains no

mark of distinction.

III

I. 57. sâdho bhâî, jîval hî karo

âs'â

O friend! hope for Him whilst

you live, know whilst you live,

understand whilst you live: for

in life deliverance abides.
 If your bonds be not broken
whilst living, what hope of

deliverance in death?

It is but an empty dream, that

the soul shall have union with
Him

because it has passed from

the body:

If He is found now, He is
found then,

If not, we do but go to dwell

in the City of Death.
 If you have union now, you
shall have it hereafter.

Bathe in the truth, know the

true Guru, have faith in the
true

Name!

Kabîr says: "It is the Spirit of

the quest which helps; I am
the

slave of this Spirit of the

quest."

IV
 I. 58. bâgo nâ jâ re nâ jâ

Do not go to the garden of

flowers!

O Friend! go not there;

In your body is the garden of

flowers.

Take your seat on the

thousand petals of the lotus,
and there

gaze on the Infinite Beauty.

V
I. 63. avadhû, mâyâ tajî na jây

Tell me, Brother, how can I

renounce Maya?

When I gave up the tying of

ribbons, still I tied my
garment

about me:

When I gave up tying my

garment, still I covered my
body in its

folds.

So, when I give up passion, I

 see that anger remains;

And when I renounce anger,

greed is with me still;

And when greed is

vanquished, pride and
vainglory remain;

When the mind is detached

and casts Maya away, still it
clings to

the letter.

Kabîr says, "Listen to me,

dear Sadhu! the true path is
rarely
 found."

VI

I. 83. candâ jhalkai yahi ghat

mâhîn

The moon shines in my body,

but my blind eyes cannot see
it:

The moon is within me, and so

is the sun.

The unstruck drum of Eternity

is sounded within me; but my
deaf
 ears cannot hear it.

So long as man clamours for

the I and the Mine,

his works are as naught:

When all love of the I and the

Mine is dead, then

the work of the Lord is done.

For work has no other aim

than the getting of
knowledge:

When that comes, then work

 is put away.

The flower blooms for the

fruit: when the fruit comes,
the flower

withers.

The musk is in the deer, but it

seeks it not within itself: it

wanders in quest of grass.

VII

I. 85. Sâdho, Brahm alakh

lakhâyâ
 When He Himself reveals
Himself, Brahma brings into
manifestation

That which can never be seen.

As the seed is in the plant, as

the shade is in the tree, as the

void is in the sky, as infinite

forms are in the void--

So from beyond the Infinite,

the Infinite comes; and from
the

Infinite the finite extends.

 The creature is in Brahma,
and Brahma is in the creature:
they

are ever distinct, yet ever

united.

He Himself is the tree, the

seed, and the germ.

He Himself is the flower, the

fruit, and the shade.

He Himself is the sun, the

light, and the lighted.

He Himself is Brahma,
creature, and Maya.
 He Himself is the manifold
form, the infinite space;

He is the breath, the word,

and the meaning.

He Himself is the limit and

the limitless: and beyond both
the

limited and the limitless is He,

the Pure Being.

He is the Immanent Mind in

Brahma and in the creature.

The Supreme Soul is seen

 within the soul,

The Point is seen within the

Supreme Soul,

And within the Point, the

reflection is seen again.

Kabîr is blest because he has

this supreme vision!

VIII

I. 101. is ghat antar bâg

bagîce

Within this earthen vessel are

bowers and groves, and
 within it

is the Creator:

Within this vessel are the

seven oceans and the
unnumbered stars.

The touchstone and the jewel-

appraiser are within;

And within this vessel the

Eternal soundeth, and the
spring wells

up.

Kabîr says: "Listen to me, my

 Friend! My beloved Lord is
within."

IX

I. 104. aisâ lo nahîn taisâ lo

O How may I ever express

that secret word?

O how can I say He is not like

this, and He is like that?

If I say that He is within me,

the universe is ashamed:

If I say that He is without me,

it is falsehood.
 He makes the inner and the
outer worlds to be indivisibly
one;

The conscious and the

unconscious, both are His
footstools.

He is neither manifest nor

hidden, He is neither revealed
nor

unrevealed:

There are no words to tell that

which He is.
 X

I. 121. tohi mori lagan lagâye

re phakîr wâ

To Thee Thou hast drawn my

love, O Fakir!

I was sleeping in my own

chamber, and Thou didst
awaken me;

striking me with Thy voice, O

Fakir!

I was drowning in the deeps

of the ocean of this world, and
Thou didst save me: upholding
me with Thine arm, O Fakir!

Only one word and no

second--and Thou hast made
me tear off all

my bonds, O Fakir!

Kabîr says, "Thou hast united

Thy heart to my heart, O
Fakir!"

XI-XX

XI

I. 131. nis' din khelat rahî

 sakhiyân sang

I played day and night with

my comrades, and now I am
greatly

afraid.

So high is my Lord's palace,

my heart trembles to mount
its

stairs: yet I must not be shy, if

I would enjoy His love.

My heart must cleave to my

Lover; I must withdraw my
veil, and
 meet Him with all my body:

Mine eyes must perform the

ceremony of the lamps of love.

Kabîr says: "Listen to me,

friend: he understands who
loves. If

you feel not love's longing for

your Beloved One, it is vain

to adorn your body, vain to

put unguent on your eyelids."

XII
 II. 24. hamsâ, kaho purâtan
vât

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,

awake, arise, 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.

XIII
 II. 37. angadhiyâ devâ

O Lord Increate, who will

serve Thee?

Every votary offers his

worship to the God of his own
creation:

each day he receives service--

None seek Him, the Perfect:

Brahma, the Indivisible Lord.

They believe in ten Avatars;

but no Avatar can be the
Infinite
 Spirit, for he suffers the
results of his deeds:

The Supreme One must be

other than this.

The Yogi, the Sanyasi, the

Ascetics, are disputing one
with

another:

Kabîr says, "O brother! he

who has seen that radiance of
love,

he is saved."
 XIV

II. 56. dariyâ kî lahar dariyâo

hai jî

The river and its waves are

one

surf: where is the difference

between the river and its
waves?

When the wave rises, it is the

water; and when it falls, it is

the same water again. Tell

me, Sir, where is the
 distinction?

Because it has been named as

wave, shall it no longer be

considered as water?

Within the Supreme Brahma,

the worlds are being told like
beads:

Look upon that rosary with

the eyes of wisdom.

XV

II. 57. jânh khelat vasant

riturâj
Where Spring, the lord of the
seasons, reigneth, there the

Unstruck Music sounds of

itself,

There the streams of light

flow in all directions;

Few are the men who can

cross to that shore!

There, where millions of

Krishnas stand with hands
folded,

Where millions of Vishnus

 bow their heads,

Where millions of Brahmâs

are reading the Vedas,

Where millions of Shivas are

lost in contemplation,

Where millions of Indras dwell

in the sky,

Where the demi-gods and the

munis are unnumbered,

Where millions of Saraswatis,

Goddess of Music, play on the
vina--
 There is my Lord self-
revealed: and the scent of
sandal and

flowers dwells in those deeps.

XVI

II. 59. jânh, cet acet khambh

dôû

Between the poles of the

conscious and the
unconscious, there has

the mind made a swing:

Thereon hang all beings and

 all worlds, and that swing
never

ceases its sway.

Millions of beings are there:

the sun and the moon in their

courses are there:

Millions of ages pass, and the

swing goes on.

All swing! the sky and the

earth and the air and the
water; and

the Lord Himself taking form:

And the sight of this has made
Kabîr a servant.

XVII

II. 61. grah candra tapan jot

varat hai

The light of the sun, the

moon, and the stars shines
bright:

The melody of love swells

forth, and the rhythm of love's

detachment beats the time.

Day and night, the chorus of
music fills the heavens; and
Kabîr

says

"My Beloved One gleams like

the lightning flash in the sky."

Do you know how the

moments perform their
adoration?

Waving its row of lamps, the

universe sings in worship day
and

night,
There are the hidden banner
and the secret canopy:

There the sound of the unseen

bells is heard.

Kabîr says: "There adoration

never ceases; there the Lord
of the

Universe sitteth on His

throne."

The whole world does its

works and commits its errors:
but few
are the lovers who know the
Beloved.

The devout seeker is he who

mingles in his heart the
double

currents of love and

detachment, like the mingling
of the

streams of Ganges and Jumna;

In his heart the sacred water

flows day and night; and thus
the

round of births and deaths is

 brought to an end.

Behold what wonderful rest is

in the Supreme Spirit! and he

enjoys it, who makes himself

meet for it.

Held by the cords of love, the

swing of the Ocean of Joy
sways to

and fro; and a mighty sound

breaks forth in song.

See what a lotus blooms there

without water! and Kabîr says
 "My heart's bee drinks its
nectar."

What a wonderful lotus it is,

that blooms at the heart of the

spinning wheel of the

universe! Only a few pure
souls know of

its true delight.

Music is all around it, and

there the heart partakes of
the joy

of the Infinite Sea.

 Kabîr says: "Dive thou into
that Ocean of sweetness: thus
let all

errors of life and of death flee

away."

Behold how the thirst of the

five senses is quenched there!
and

the three forms of misery are

no more!

Kabîr says: "It is the sport of

the Unattainable One: look

within, and behold how the

 moon-beams of that Hidden
One shine

in you."

There falls the rhythmic beat

of life and death:

Rapture wells forth, and all

space is radiant with light.

There the Unstruck Music is

sounded; it is the music of the
love

of the three worlds.

There millions of lamps of sun

 and of moon are burning;

There the drum beats, and the

lover swings in play.

There love-songs resound, and

light rains in showers; and the

worshipper is entranced in
the taste of the heavenly
nectar.

Look upon life and death;

there is no separation
between them,

The right hand and the left

hand are one and the same.
 Kabîr says: "There the wise
man is speechless; for this
truth may

never be found in Vadas or in

books."

I have had my Seat on the

Self-poised One,

I have drunk of the Cup of the

Ineffable,

I have found the Key of the

Mystery,

I have reached the Root of

 Union.

Travelling by no track, I have

come to the Sorrowless Land:
very

easily has the mercy of the

great Lord come upon me.

They have sung of Him as

infinite and unattainable: but I
in my

meditations have seen Him

without sight.

That is indeed the sorrowless

land, and none know the path
 that

leads there:

Only he who is on that path

has surely transcended all
sorrow.

Wonderful is that land of rest,

to which no merit can win;

It is the wise who has seen it,

it is the wise who has sung of

it.

This is the Ultimate Word: but

can any express its
 marvellous

savour?

He who has savoured it once,

he knows what joy it can give.

Kabîr says: "Knowing it, the

ignorant man becomes wise,
and the

wise man becomes speechless

and silent,

The worshipper is utterly

inebriated,

His wisdom and his

detachment are made perfect;

He drinks from the cup of the

inbreathings and the
outbreathings

of love."

There the whole sky is filled

with sound, and there that
music is

made without fingers and

without strings;

There the game of pleasure

and pain does not cease.
Kabîr says: "If you merge your
life in the Ocean of Life, you

will find your life in the

Supreme Land of Bliss."

What a frenzy of ecstasy there

is in every hour! and the

worshipper is pressing out

and drinking the essence of
the

hours: he lives in the life of

Brahma.

I speak truth, for I have

accepted truth in life; I am
 now

attached to truth, I have

swept all tinsel away.

Kabîr says: "Thus is the

worshipper set free from fear;
thus have

all errors of life and of death

left him."

There the sky is filled with

music:

There it rains nectar:

There the harp-strings jingle,

 and there the drums beat.

What a secret splendour is

there, in the mansion of the
sky!

There no mention is made of

the rising and the setting of
the

sun;

In the ocean of manifestation,

which is the light of love, day

and night are felt to be one.

Joy for ever, no sorrow,--no

 struggle!

There have I seen joy filled to

the brim, perfection of joy;

No place for error is there.

Kabîr says: "There have I

witnessed the sport of One
Bliss!"

I have known in my body the

sport of the universe: I have
escaped

from the error of this world..

The inward and the outward

 are become as one sky, the
Infinite

and the finite are united: I am

drunken with the sight of this

All!

This Light of Thine fulfils the

universe: the lamp of love that

burns on the salver of

knowledge.

Kabîr says: "There error

cannot enter, and the conflict
of life
 and death is felt no more."

XVIII

II. 77. maddh âkas' âp jahân

baithe

The middle region of the sky,

wherein the spirit dwelleth, is

radiant with the music of

light;

There, where the pure and

white music blossoms, my
Lord takes His

delight.
In the wondrous effulgence of
each hair of His body, the

brightness of millions of suns

and of moons is lost.

On that shore there is a city,

where the rain of nectar pours
and

pours, and never ceases.

Kabîr says: "Come, O

Dharmadas! and see my great
Lord's Durbar."

XIX
II. 20. paramâtam guru nikat
virâjatn

O my heart! the Supreme

Spirit, the great Master, is
near you:

wake, oh wake!

Run to the feet of your

Beloved: for your Lord stands
near to your

head.

You have slept for

unnumbered ages; this
 morning will you not

wake?

XX

II. 22. man tu pâr utar kânh

jaiho

To what shore would you

cross, O my heart? there is no
traveller

before you, there is no road:

Where is the movement,

where is the rest, on that
shore?
There is no water; no boat, no
boatman, is there;

There is not so much as a

rope to tow the boat, nor a
man to draw

it.

No earth, no sky, no time, no

thing, is there: no shore, no
ford!

There, there is neither body

nor mind: and where is the
place
that shall still the thirst of the
soul? You shall find naught

in that emptiness.

Be strong, and enter into your

own body: for there your
foothold

is firm. Consider it well, O my

heart! go not elsewhere,

Kabîr says: "Put all

imaginations away, and stand
fast in that

which you are."

 XXI-XXX

XXI

II. 33. ghar ghar dîpak barai

Lamps burn in every house, O

blind one! and you cannot see
them.

One day your eyes shall

suddenly be opened, and you
shall see:

and the fetters of death will

fall from you.

There is nothing to say or to

hear, there is nothing to do: it
is

he who is living, yet dead,

who shall never die again.

Because he lives in solitude,

therefore the Yogi says that
his

home is far away.

Your Lord is near: yet you are

climbing the palm-tree to seek

Him.

The Brâhman priest goes from

house to house and initiates
people

into faith:

Alas! the true fountain of life

is beside you., and you have
set

up a stone to worship.

Kabîr says: "I may never

express how sweet my Lord
is. Yoga and

the telling of beads, virtue

and vice--these are naught to
Him."
 XXII

II. 38. Sâdho, so satgur mohi

bhâwai

O brother, my heart yearns for

that true Guru, who fills the
cup

of true love, and drinks of it

himself, and offers it then to

me.

He removes the veil from the

eyes, and gives the true Vision
of
 Brahma:

He reveals the worlds in Him,

and makes me to hear the
Unstruck

Music:

He shows joy and sorrow to

be one:

He fills all utterance with

love.

Kabîr says: "Verily he has no

fear, who has such a Guru to
lead
him to the shelter of safety!"

XXIII

II. 40. tinwir sâñjh kâ gahirâ

âwai

The shadows of evening fall

thick and deep, and the
darkness of

love envelops the body and

the mind.

Open the window to the west,

and be lost in the sky of love;
 Drink the sweet honey that
steeps the petals of the lotus
of the

heart.

Receive the waves in your

body: what splendour is in the
region

of the sea!

Hark! the sounds of conches

and bells are rising.

Kabîr says: "O brother,

behold! the Lord is in this
vessel of my
 body."

XXIV

II. 48. jis se rahani apâr jagat

men

More than all else do I cherish

at heart that love which
makes me

to live a limitless life in this

world.

It is like the lotus, which lives

in the water and blooms in the
 water: yet the water cannot
touch its petals, they open
beyond

its reach.

It is like a wife, who enters

the fire at the bidding of love.

She burns and lets others

grieve, yet never dishonours
love.

This ocean of the world is

hard to cross: its waters are
very

deep. Kabîr says: "Listen to

 me, O Sadhu! few there are
who

have reached its end."

XXV

II. 45. Hari ne apnâ âp

chipâyâ

My Lord hides Himself, and

my Lord wonderfully reveals
Himself:

My Lord has encompassed me

with hardness, and my Lord
has cast
 down my limitations.

My Lord brings to me words

of sorrow and words of joy,
and He

Himself heals their strife.

I will offer my body and mind

to my Lord: I will give up my
life,

but never can I forget my

Lord!

XXVI

II. 75. ônkâr siwae kôî sirjai

All things are created by the
Om;

The love-form is His body.

He is without form, without

quality, without decay:

Seek thou union with Him!

But that formless God takes a

thousand forms in the eyes of
His

creatures:

He is pure and indestructible,

 His form is infinite and
fathomless,

He dances in rapture, and

waves of form arise from His
dance.

The body and the mind cannot

contain themselves, when
they are

touched by His great joy.

He is immersed in all
consciousness, all joys, and all
sorrows;
He has no beginning and no
end;

He holds all within His bliss.

XXVII

II. 81. satgur sôî dayâ kar

dînhâ

It is the mercy of my true

Guru that has made me to
know the

unknown;

I have learned from Him how

to walk without feet, to see
 without

eyes, to hear without ears, to

drink without mouth, to fly

without wings;

I have brought my love and

my meditation into the land
where

there is no sun and moon, nor

day and night.

Without eating, I have tasted

of the sweetness of nectar;
and
 without water, I have
quenched my thirst.

Where there is the response

of delight, there is the fullness
of

joy. Before whom can that joy

be uttered?

Kabîr says: "The Guru is great

beyond words, and great is
the

good fortune of the disciple."

XXVIII
 II. 85. nirgun âge sargun
nâcai

Before the Unconditioned, the

Conditioned dances: "Thou
and I are

one!" this trumpet proclaims.

The Guru comes, and bows

down before the disciple:

This is the greatest of

wonders.

XXIX

II. 87. Kabîr kab se bhaye

 vairâgî

Gorakhnath asks Kabîr:

"Tell me, O Kabîr, when did

your vocation begin? Where
did your

love have its rise?"

Kabîr answers:

"When He whose forms are

manifold had not begun His
play: when

there was no Guru, and no

disciple: when the world was
 not

spread out: when the

Supreme One was alone--

Then I became an ascetic;

then, O Gorakh, my love was
drawn to

Brahma.

Brahma did not hold the

crown on his head; the god
Vishnu was not

anointed as king; the power of

Shiva was still unborn; when I
 was instructed in Yoga.

I became suddenly revealed in

Benares, and Râmânanda
illumined

me;

I brought with me the thirst

for the Infinite, and I have
come

for the meeting with Him.

In simplicity will I unite with

the Simple One; my love will

surge up.
O Gorakh, march thou with
His music!"

XXX

II. 95. yâ tarvar men ek

pakherû

On this tree is a bird: it

dances in the joy of life.

None knows where it is: and

who knows what the burden
of its

music may be?

 Where the branches throw a
deep shade, there does it have
its

nest: and it comes in the

evening and flies away in the
morning,

and says not a word of that

which it means.

None tell me of this bird that

sings within me.

It is neither coloured nor

colourless: it has neither form
nor
 outline:

It sits in the shadow of love.

It dwells within the

Unattainable, the Infinite, and
the Eternal;

and no one marks when it

comes and goes.

Kabîr says: "O brother Sadhu!

deep is the mystery. Let wise
men

seek to know where rests that

bird."
 XXXI-XL

XXXI

II. 100. nis` din sâlai ghâw

A sore pain troubles me day

and night, and I cannot sleep;

I long for the meeting with my

Beloved, and my father's
house

gives me pleasure no more.

The gates of the sky are

opened, the temple is
revealed:
I meet my husband, and leave
at His feet the offering of my
body

and my mind.

XXXII

II. 103. nâco re mero man,

matta hoy

Dance, my heart! dance to-

day with joy.

The strains of love fill the

days and the nights with
music, and
 the world is listening to its
melodies:

Mad with joy, life and death

dance to the rhythm of this
music.

The hills and the sea and the

earth dance. The world of
man

dances in laughter and tears.

Why put on the robe of the

monk, and live aloof from the
world in
 lonely pride?

Behold! my heart dances in

the delight of a hundred arts;
and

the Creator is well pleased.

XXXIII

II. 105. man mast huâ tab

kyon bole

Where is the need of words,

when love has made drunken
the heart?

I have wrapped the diamond

in my cloak; why open it again
and

again?

When its load was light, the

pan of the balance went up:
now it

is full, where is the need for

weighing?

The swan has taken its flight

to the lake beyond the
mountains;

why should it search for the

pools and ditches any more?
Your Lord dwells within you:
why need your outward eyes
be

opened?

Kabîr says: "Listen, my

brother! my Lord, who
ravishes my eyes,

has united Himself with me."

XXXIV

II. 110. mohi tohi lâgî kaise

chute
 How could the love between
Thee and me sever?

As the leaf of the lotus abides

on the water: so thou art my

Lord, and I am Thy servant.

As the night-bird Chakor

gazes all night at the moon: so
Thou art

my Lord and I am Thy

servant.

From the beginning until the

ending of time, there is love
 between Thee and me; and
how shall such love be
extinguished?

Kabîr says: "As the river

enters into the ocean, so my
heart

touches Thee."

XXXV

II. 113. vâlam, âwo hamâre

geh re

My body and my mind are

grieved for the want of Thee;
 O my Beloved! come to my
house.

When people say I am Thy

bride, I am ashamed; for I
have not

touched Thy heart with my

heart.

Then what is this love of

mine? I have no taste for food,
I have

no sleep; my heart is ever

restless within doors and
without.
As water is to the thirsty, so is
the lover to the bride. Who is

there that will carry my news

to my Beloved?

Kabîr is restless: he is dying

for sight of Him.

XXXVI

II. 126. jâg piyârî, ab kân

sowai

O friend, awake, and sleep no

more!

The night is over and gone,

would you lose your day also?

Others, who have wakened,

have received jewels;

O foolish woman! you have

lost all whilst you slept.

Your lover is wise, and you are

foolish, O woman!

You never prepared the bed of

your husband:

O mad one! you passed your

time in silly play.

Your youth was passed in

 vain, for you did not know
your Lord;

Wake, wake! See! your bed is

empty: He left you in the
night.

Kabîr says: "Only she wakes,

whose heart is pierced with
the

arrow of His music."

XXXVII

I. 36. sûr parkâs', tanh rain

kahân pâïye
Where is the night, when the
sun is shining? If it is night,

then the sun withdraws its

light. Where knowledge is,
can

ignorance endure?

If there be ignorance, then

knowledge must die.

If there be lust, how can love

be there? Where there is love,

there is no lust.

Lay hold on your sword, and

join in the fight. Fight, O my

brother, as long as life lasts.

Strike off your enemy's head,

and there make an end of him

quickly: then come, and bow

your head at your King's
Durbar.

He who is brave, never

forsakes the battle: he who
flies from it

is no true fighter.

In the field of this body a

 great war goes forward,
against

passion, anger, pride, and

greed:

It is in the kingdom of truth,

contentment and purity, that
this

battle is raging; and the

sword that rings forth most
loudly is

the sword of His Name.

Kabîr says: "When a brave

knight takes the field, a host
 of

cowards is put to flight.

It is a hard fight and a weary

one, this fight of the

truth-seeker: for the vow of

the truth-seeker is more hard
than

that of the warrior, or of the

widowed wife who would
follow her

husband.

For the warrior fights for a

 few hours, and the widow's
struggle

with death is soon ended:

But the truth-seeker's battle

goes on day and night, as long
as

life lasts it never ceases."

XXXVIII

I. 50. bhram kâ tâlâ lagâ

mahal re

The lock of error shuts the

gate, open it with the key of
 love:

Thus, by opening the door,

thou shalt wake the Beloved.

Kabîr says: "O brother! do not

pass by such good fortune as

this."

XXXIX

I. 59. sâdho, yah tan thâth

tanvure ka

O friend! this body is His lyre;

He tightens its strings, and
 draws from it the melody of
Brahma.

If the strings snap and the

keys slacken, then to dust
must this

instrument of dust return:

Kabîr says: "None but Brahma

can evoke its melodies."

XL

I. 65. avadhû bhûle ko ghar

lâwe

He is dear to me indeed who

can call back the wanderer to
his

home. In the home is the true

union, in the home is
enjoyment

of life: why should I forsake

my home and wander in the
forest?

If Brahma helps me to realize

truth, verily I will find both

bondage and deliverance in

home.

He is dear to me indeed who

 has power to dive deep into
Brahma;

whose mind loses itself with

ease in His contemplation.

He is dear to me who knows

Brahma, and can dwell on His
supreme

truth in meditation; and who

can play the melody of the

Infinite by uniting love and

renunciation in life.

Kabîr says: "The home is the

abiding place; in the home is
 reality; the home helps to
attain Him Who is real. So
stay

where you are, and all things

shall come to you in time."

XLI-L

XLI

I. 76. santo, sahaj samâdh

bhalî

O sadhu! the simple union is

the best. Since the day when I
met
with my Lord, there has been
no end to the sport of our
love.

I shut not my eyes, I close not

my ears, I do not mortify my

body;

I see with eyes open and

smile, and behold His beauty
everywhere:

I utter His Name, and

whatever I see, it reminds me
of Him;
whatever I do., it becomes His
worship.

The rising and the setting are

one to me; all contradictions
are

solved.

Wherever I go, I move round

Him,

All I achieve is His service:

When I lie down, I lie

prostrate at His feet.

He is the only adorable one to

 me: I have none other.

My tongue has left off impure

words, it sings His glory day
and

night:

Whether I rise or sit down, I

can never forget Him; for the

rhythm of His music beats in

my ears.

Kabîr says: "My heart is

frenzied, and I disclose in my
soul what
is hidden. I am immersed in
that one great bliss which

transcends all pleasure and

pain."

XLII

I. 79. tîrath men to sab pânî

hai

There is nothing but water at

the holy bathing places; and I
know

that they are useless, for I

have bathed in them.
 The images are all lifeless,
they cannot speak; I know, for
I

have cried aloud to them.

The Purana and the Koran are

mere words; lifting up the
curtain,

I have seen.

Kabîr gives utterance to the

words of experience; and he
knows

very well that all other things

are untrue.
 XLIII

I. 82. pânî vic mîn piyâsî

I laugh when I hear that the

fish in the water is thirsty:

You do not see that the Real is

in your home, and you wander
from

forest to forest listlessly!

Here is the truth! Go where

you will, to Benares or to
Mathura;
 if you do not find your soul,
the world is unreal to you.

XLIV

I. 93. gagan math gaib nisân

gade

The Hidden Banner is planted

in the temple of the sky; there
the

blue canopy decked with the

moon and set with bright
jewels is

spread.
There the light of the sun and
the moon is shining: still your

mind to silence before that

splendour.

Kabîr says: "He who has

drunk of this nectar, wanders
like one

who is mad."

XLV

I. 97. sâdho, ko hai kânh se

âyo

Who are you, and whence do

 you come?

Where dwells that Supreme

Spirit, and how does He have
His sport

with all created things?

The fire is in the wood; but

who awakens it suddenly?
Then it

turns to ashes, and where

goes the force of the fire?

The true guru teaches that He

has neither limit nor
infinitude.
Kabîr says: "Brahma suits His
language to the
understanding of

His hearer."

XLVI

I. 98. sâdho, sahajai kâyâ

s'odho

O sadhu! purify your body in

the simple way.

As the seed is within the

banyan tree, and within the
seed are
the flowers, the fruits, and the
shade:

So the germ is within the

body, and within that germ is
the body

again.

The fire, the air, the water, the

earth, and the aether; you

cannot have these outside of

Him.

O, Kazi, O Pundit, consider it

well: what is there that is not
 in

the soul?

The water-filled pitcher is

placed upon water, it has
water

within and without.

It should not be given a name,

lest it call forth the error of

dualism.

Kabîr says: "Listen to the

Word, the Truth, which is your
essence. He speaks the Word
to Himself; and He Himself is
the

Creator."

XLVII

I. 102. tarvar ek mûl vin thâdâ

There is a strange tree, which

stands without roots and
bears

fruits without blossoming;

It has no branches and no

leaves, it is lotus all over.
Two birds sing there; one is
the Guru, and the other the

disciple:

The disciple chooses the

manifold fruits of life and
tastes them,

and the Guru beholds him in

joy.

What Kabîr says is hard to

understand: "The bird is
beyond

seeking, yet it is most clearly

 visible. The Formless is in

the midst of all forms. I sing

the glory of forms."

XLVIII

I. 107. calat mansâ acal kînhî

I have stilled my restless

mind, and my heart is radiant:
for in

Thatness I have seen beyond

That-ness. In company I have
seen

the Comrade Himself.

Living in bondage, I have set
myself free: I have broken
away

from the clutch of all

narrowness.

Kabîr says: "I have attained

the unattainable, and my
heart is

coloured with the colour of

love."

XLIX

I. 105. jo dîsai, so to hai nâhîn

That which you see is not: and
for that which is, you have no

words.

Unless you see, you believe

not: what is told you you
cannot

accept.

He who is discerning knows

by the word; and the ignorant
stands

gaping.
 Some contemplate the
Formless, and others meditate
on form: but

the wise man knows that

Brahma is beyond both.

That beauty of His is not seen

of the eye: that metre of His is

not heard of the ear.

Kabîr says: "He who has found

both love and renunciation
never

descends to death."
 L

I. 126. muralî bajat akhand

sadâye

The flute of the Infinite is

played without ceasing, and
its

sound is love:

When love renounces all

limits, it reaches truth.

How widely the fragrance

spreads! It has no end,
nothing stands
 in its way.

The form of this melody is

bright like a million suns:

incomparably sounds the vina,

the vina of the notes of truth.

LI-LX

LI

I. 129. sakhiyo, ham hûn bhâî

vâlamâs'î

Dear friend, I am eager to

meet my Beloved! My youth
has
 flowered, and the pain of
separation from Him troubles
my

breast.

I am wandering yet in the

alleys of knowledge without
purpose,

but I have received His news

in these alleys of knowledge.

I have a letter from my

Beloved: in this letter is an
unutterable
message, and now my fear of
death is done away.

Kabîr says: "O my loving

friend! I have got for my gift
the

Deathless One."

LII

I. 130. sâîn vin dard kareje

hoy

When I am parted from my

Beloved, my heart is full of
misery: I
have no comfort in the day, I
have no sleep in the night. To

whom shall I tell my sorrow?

The night is dark; the hours

slip by. Because my Lord is
absent,

I start up and tremble with

fear.

Kabîr says: "Listen, my friend!

there is no other satisfaction,

save in the encounter with the

Beloved."
 LIII

I. 122. kaum muralî s'abd s'un

ânand bhayo

What is that flute whose

music thrills me with joy?

The flame burns without a

lamp;

The lotus blossoms without a

root;

Flowers bloom in clusters;

The moon-bird is devoted to

the moon;
With all its heart the rain-bird
longs for the shower of rain;

But upon whose love does the

Lover concentrate His entire
life?

LIV

I. 112. s'untâ nahî dhun kî

khabar

Have you not heard the tune

which the Unstruck Music is
playing?

In the midst of the chamber

the harp of joy is gently and

sweetly played; and where is

the need of going without to
hear

it?

If you have not drunk of the

nectar of that One Love, what
boots

it though you should purge

yourself of all stains?

The Kazi is searching the

words of the Koran, and
instructing
others: but if his heart be not
steeped in that love, what
does

it avail, though he be a
teacher of men?

The Yogi dyes his garments

with red: but if he knows
naught of

that colour of love, what does

it avail though his garments
be

tinted?
Kabîr says: "Whether I be in
the temple or the balcony, in
the

camp or in the flower garden,

I tell you truly that every

moment my Lord is taking His

delight in me."

LV

I. 73. bhakti kâ mârag jhînâ re

Subtle is the path of love!

Therein there is no asking and

no not-asking,
 There one loses one's self at
His feet,

There one is immersed in the

joy of the seeking: plunged in
the

deeps of love as the fish in the

water.

The lover is never slow in

offering his head for his
Lord's

service.

Kabîr declares the secret of

 this love.

LVI

I. 68. bhâi kôî satguru sant

kahâwaî

He is the real Sadhu, who can

reveal the form of the
Formless to

the vision of these eyes:

Who teaches the simple way

of attaining Him, that is other
than

rites or ceremonies:
Who does not make you close
the doors, and hold the
breath, and

renounce the world:

Who makes you perceive the

Supreme Spirit wherever the
mind

attaches itself:

Who teaches you to be still in

the midst of all your activities.

Ever immersed in bliss,

having no fear in his mind, he
 keeps the

spirit of union in the midst of

all enjoyments.

The infinite dwelling of the

Infinite Being is everywhere:
in

earth, water, sky, and air:

Firm as the thunderbolt, the

seat of the seeker is
established

above the void.

He who is within is without: I

 see Him and none else.

LVII

I. 66. sâdho, s'abd sâdhnâ

kîjai

Receive that Word from which

the Universe springeth!

That word is the Guru; I have

heard it, and become the
disciple.

How many are there who

know the meaning of that
word?
O Sadhu! practise that Word!

The Vedas and the Puranas

proclaim it,

The world is established in it,

The Rishis and devotees speak

of it:

But none knows the mystery

of the Word.

The householder leaves his

house when he hears it,

The ascetic comes back to

love when he hears it,
The Six Philosophies expound
it,

The Spirit of Renunciation

points to that Word,

From that Word the world-

form has sprung,

That Word reveals all.

Kabîr says: "But who knows

whence the Word cometh?

LVIII

I. 63. pîle pyâlâ, ho matwâlâ

 Empty the Cup! O be
drunken!

Drink the divine nectar of His

Name!

Kabîr says: "Listen to me,

dear Sadhu!

From the sole of the foot to

the crown of the head this
mind is

filled with poison."

LIX
I. 52. khasm na cînhai bâwari

O man, if thou dost not know

thine own Lord, whereof art
thou so

proud?

Put thy cleverness away: mere

words shall never unite thee
to

Him.

Do not deceive thyself with

the witness of the Scriptures:

Love is something other than

this, and he who has sought it
truly

has found it.

LX

I. 56. sukh sindh kî sair kâ

The savour of wandering in

the ocean of deathless life has
rid me

of all my asking:

As the tree is in the seed, so

all diseases are in this asking.
 LXI-LXX

LXI

I. 48. sukh sâgar men âîke

When at last you are come to

the ocean of happiness, do not
go

back thirsty.

Wake, foolish man! for Death

stalks you. Here is pure water

before you; drink it at every

breath.
 Do not follow the mirage on
foot, but thirst for the nectar;

Dhruva, Prahlad, and

Shukadeva have drunk of it,
and also Raidas

has tasted it:

The saints are drunk with

love, their thirst is for love.

Kabîr says: "Listen to me,

brother! The nest of fear is
broken.

Not for a moment have you

come face to face with the
 world:

You are weaving your

bondage of falsehood, your
words are full of

deception:

With the load of desires which

you. hold on your head, how
can

you be light?"

Kabîr says: "Keep within you

truth, detachment, and love."

LXII
I. 35. satî ko kaun s'ikhâwtâ
hai

Who has ever taught the

widowed wife to burn herself
on the pyre

of her dead husband?

And who has ever taught love

to find bliss in renunciation?

LXIII

I. 39. are man, dhîraj kâhe na

dharai
Why so impatient, my heart?

He who watches over birds,

beasts, and insects,

He who cared for you whilst

you were yet in your mother's
womb,

Shall He not care for you now

that you are come forth?

Oh my heart, how could you

turn from the smile of your
Lord and

wander so far from Him?

 You have left Your Beloved
and are thinking of others:
and this

is why all your work is in vain.

LXIV

I. 117. sâîn se lagan kathin

hai, bhâî

Now hard it is to meet my

Lord!

The rain-bird wails in thirst

for the rain: almost she dies of

her longing, yet she would

have none other water than
the

rain.

Drawn by the love of music,

the deer moves forward: she
dies as

she listens to the music, yet

she shrinks not in fear.

The widowed wife sits by the

body of her dead husband:
she is not

afraid of the fire.

Put away all fear for this poor
body.

LXV

I. 22. jab main bhûlâ, re bhâî

O brother! when I was

forgetful, my true Guru
showed me the Way.

Then I left off all rites and

ceremonies, I bathed no more
in the

holy water:

Then I learned that it was I

alone who was mad, and the
whole

world beside me was sane;

and I had disturbed these
wise people.

From that time forth I knew

no more how to roll in the
dust in

obeisance:

I do not ring the temple bell:

I do not set the idol on its

throne:
 I do not worship the image
with flowers.

It is not the austerities that

mortify the flesh which are

pleasing to the Lord,

When you leave off your

clothes and kill your senses,
you do not

please the Lord:

The man who is kind and who

practises righteousness, who
remains
passive amidst the affairs of
the world, who considers all

creatures on earth as his own

self,

He attains the Immortal

Being, the true God is ever
with him.

Kabîr says: "He attains the

true Name whose words are
pure, and

who is free from pride and

conceit."

LXVI
 I. 20. man na rangâye

The Yogi dyes his garments,

instead of dyeing his mind in
the

colours of love:

He sits within the temple of

the Lord, leaving Brahma to
worship

a stone.

He pierces holes in his ears,

he has a great beard and
matted
 locks, he looks like a goat:

He goes forth into the

wilderness, killing all his
desires, and

turns himself into an eunuch:

He shaves his head and dyes

his garments; he reads the
Gîtâ and

becomes a mighty talker.

Kabîr says: "You are going to

the doors of death, bound
hand and
 foot!"

LXVII

I. 9. nâ jâne sâhab kaisâ hai

I do not know what manner of

God is mine.

The Mullah cries aloud to

Him: and why? Is your Lord
deaf? The

subtle anklets that ring on the

feet of an insect when it
moves
 are heard of Him.

Tell your beads, paint your

forehead with the mark of
your God,

and wear matted locks long

and showy: but a deadly
weapon is in

your heart, and how shall you

have God?

LXVIII

III. 102. ham se rahâ na jây

I hear the melody of His flute,

and I cannot contain myself:

The flower blooms, though it

is not spring; and already the
bee

has received its invitation.

The sky roars and the

lightning flashes, the waves
arise in my

heart,

The rain falls; and my heart

longs for my Lord.

Where the rhythm of the

world rises and falls, thither
my heart

has reached:

There the hidden banners are

fluttering in the air.

Kabîr says: "My heart is

dying, though it lives."

LXIX

III. 2. jo khodâ masjid vasat

hai

If God be within the mosque,

then to whom does this world
 belong?

If Ram be within the image

which you find upon your
pilgrimage,

then who is there to know

what happens without?

Hari is in the East: Allah is in

the West. Look within your

heart, for there you will find

both Karim and Ram;

All the men and women of the

world are His living forms.
Kabîr is the child of Allah and
of Ram: He is my Guru, He is
my

Pir.

LXX

III. 9. s'îl santosh sadâ

samadrishti

He who is meek and

contented., he who has an
equal vision, whose

mind is filled with the fullness

of acceptance and of rest;
 He who has seen Him and
touched Him, he is freed from
all fear

and trouble.

To him the perpetual thought

of God is like sandal paste
smeared

on the body, to him nothing

else is delight:

His work and his rest are

filled with music: he sheds
abroad the

radiance of love.
 Kabîr says: "Touch His feet,
who is one and indivisible,

immutable and peaceful; who

fills all vessels to the brim
with

joy, and whose form is love."

LXXI-LXXX

LXXI

III. 13. sâdh sangat pîtam

Go thou to the company of the

good, where the Beloved One
 has His

dwelling place:

Take all thy thoughts and love

and instruction from thence.

Let that assembly be burnt to

ashes where His Name is not
spoken!

Tell me, how couldst thou hold

a wedding-feast, if the
bridegroom

himself were not there?

Waver no more, think only of

 the Beloved;

Set not thy heart on the

worship of other gods, there
is no worth

in the worship of other

masters.

Kabîr deliberates and says:

"Thus thou shalt never find
the

Beloved!"

LXXII

III. 26. tor hîrâ hirâilwâ kîcad

 men

The jewel is lost in the mud,

and all are seeking for it;

Some look for it in the east,

and some in the west; some in
the

water and some amongst

stones.

But the servant Kabîr has

appraised it at its true value,
and has

wrapped it with care in the

end of the mantle of his heart.
 LXXIII

III. 26. âyau din gaune kâ ho

The palanquin came to take

me away to my husband's
home, and it

sent through my heart a thrill

of joy;

But the bearers have brought

me into the lonely forest,
where I

have no one of my own.

 O bearers, I entreat you by
your feet, wait but a moment
longer:

let me go back to my kinsmen

and friends, and take my
leave of

them.

The servant Kabîr sings: "O

Sadhu! finish your buying and

selling, have done with your

good and your bad: for there
are

no markets and no shops in

 the land to which you go."

LXXIV

III. 30. are dil, prem nagar kä

ant na pâyâ

O my heart! you have not

known all the secrets of this
city of

love: in ignorance you came,

and in ignorance you return.

O my friend, what have you

done with this life? You have
taken
 on your head the burden
heavy with stones, and who is
to

lighten it for you?

Your Friend stands on the

other shore, but you never
think in

your mind how you may meet

with Him:

The boat is broken, and yet

you sit ever upon the bank;
and thus

you are beaten to no purpose

 by the waves.

The servant Kabîr asks you to

consider; who is there that
shall

befriend you at the last?

You are alone, you have no

companion: you will suffer the

consequences of your own

deeds.

LXXV

III. 55. ved kahe sargun ke

âge
 The Vedas say that the
Unconditioned stands beyond
the world of

Conditions.

O woman, what does it avail

thee to dispute whether He is
beyond

all or in all?

See thou everything as thine

own dwelling place: the mist
of

pleasure and pain can never

 spread there.

There Brahma is revealed day

and night: there light is His

garment, light is His seat,

light rests on thy head.

Kabîr says: "The Master, who

is true, He is all light."

LXXVI

III. 48. tû surat nain nihâr

Open your eyes of love, and

see Him who pervades this
world I
 consider it well, and know
that this is your own country.

When you meet the true Guru,

He will awaken your heart;

He will tell you the secret of

love and detachment, and
then you

will know indeed that He

transcends this universe.

This world is the City of

Truth, its maze of paths
enchants the
 heart:

We can reach the goal without

crossing the road, such is the

sport unending.

Where the ring of manifold

joys ever dances about Him,
there is

the sport of Eternal Bliss.

When we know this, then all

our receiving and renouncing
is

over;
 Thenceforth the heat of
having shall never scorch us
more.

He is the Ultimate Rest

unbounded:

He has spread His form of

love throughout all the world.

From that Ray which is Truth,

streams of new forms are

perpetually springing: and He

pervades those forms.

All the gardens and groves

 and bowers are abounding
with blossom;

and the air breaks forth into

ripples of joy.

There the swan plays a

wonderful game,

There the Unstruck Music

eddies around the Infinite
One;

There in the midst the Throne

of the Unheld is shining,
whereon

the great Being sits--

 Millions of suns are shamed
by the radiance of a single
hair of

His body.

On the harp of the road what

true melodies are being
sounded!

and its notes pierce the heart:

There the Eternal Fountain is

playing its endless life-
streams of

birth and death.

They call Him Emptiness who
is the Truth of truths, in
Whom all

truths are stored!

There within Him creation

goes forward, which is beyond
all

philosophy; for philosophy

cannot attain to Him:

There is an endless world, O

my Brother! and there is the

Nameless Being, of whom

 naught can be said.

Only he knows it who has

reached that region: it is
other than

all that is heard and said.

No form, no body, no length,

no breadth is seen there: how
can I

tell you that which it is?

He comes to the Path of the

Infinite on whom the grace of
the
 Lord descends: he is freed
from births and deaths who
attains

to Him.

Kabîr says: "It cannot be told

by the words of the mouth, it

cannot be written on paper:

It is like a dumb person who

tastes a sweet thing--how
shall it

be explained?"

LXXVII
 III. 60. cal hamsâ wâ des'
jahân

O my heart! let us go to that

country where dwells the
Beloved,

the ravisher of my heart!

There Love is filling her

pitcher from the well, yet she
has no

rope wherewith to draw

water;

There the clouds do not cover

the sky, yet the rain falls down
in

gentle showers:

O bodiless one! do not sit on

your doorstep; go forth and
bathe

yourself in that rain!

There it is ever moonlight and

never dark; and who speaks of
one

sun only? that land is

illuminate with the rays of a
million
 suns.

LXXVIII

III. 63. kahain Kabîr, s'uno ho

sâdho

Kabîr says: "O Sadhu! hear

my deathless words. If you
want your

own good, examine and

consider them well.

You have estranged yourself

from the Creator, of whom you
have
 sprung: you have lost your
reason, you have bought
death.

All doctrines and all teachings

are sprung from Him, from
Him

they grow: know this for

certain, and have no fear.

Hear from me the tidings of

this great truth!

Whose name do you sing, and

on whom do you meditate? O,
come
forth from this entanglement!

He dwells at the heart of all

things, so why take refuge in
empty

desolation?

If you place the Guru at a

distance from you, then it is
but the

distance that you honour:

If indeed the Master be far

away, then who is it else that
is
 creating this world?

When you think that He is not

here, then you wander further
and

further away, and seek Him in

vain with tears.

Where He is far off, there He

is unattainable: where He is
near,

He is very bliss.

Kabîr says: "Lest His servant

should suffer pain He
 pervades him

through and through."

Know yourself then, O Kabîr;

for He is in you from head to
foot.

Sing with gladness, and keep

your seat unmoved within
your heart.

LXXIX

III. 66. nâ main dharmî nahîn

adharmî

I am neither pious nor

ungodly, I live neither by law
nor by

sense,

I am neither a speaker nor

hearer, I am neither a servant
nor

master, I am neither bond nor

free,

I am neither detached nor

attached.

I am far from none: I am near

to none.
I shall go neither to hell nor to
heaven.

I do all works; yet I am apart

from all works.

Few comprehend my
meaning: he who can
comprehend it, he sits

unmoved.

Kabîr seeks neither to

establish nor to destroy.

LXXX

III. 69. satta nâm hai sab ten

 nyârâ

The true Name is like none

other name!

The distinction of the

Conditioned from the
Unconditioned is but

a word:

The Unconditioned is the

seed, the Conditioned is the
flower and

the fruit.

Knowledge is the branch, and

 the Name is the root.

Look, and see where the root

is: happiness shall be yours
when

you come to the root.

The root will lead you to the

branch, the leaf, the flower,
and

the fruit:

It is the encounter with the

Lord, it is the attainment of
bliss,
it is the reconciliation of the
Conditioned and the

Unconditioned.

LXXXI-XC

LXXXI

III. 74. pratham ek jo âpai âp

In the beginning was He

alone, sufficient unto Himself:
the

formless, colourless, and

unconditioned Being.
 Then was there neither
beginning, middle, nor end;

Then were no eyes, no

darkness, no light;

Then were no ground, air, nor

sky; no fire, water, nor earth;
no

rivers like the Ganges and the

Jumna, no seas, oceans, and
waves.

Then was neither vice nor

virtue; scriptures there were
not, as
the Vedas and Puranas, nor as
the Koran.

Kabîr ponders in his mind and

says, "Then was there no
activity:

the Supreme Being remained

merged in the unknown
depths of His

own self."

The Guru neither eats nor

drinks, neither lives nor dies:

Neither has He form, line,

colour, nor vesture.
He who has neither caste nor
clan nor anything else--how
may I

describe His glory?

He has neither form nor

formlessness,

He has no name,

He has neither colour nor

colourlessness,

He has no dwelling-place.

LXXXII
III. 76. kahain Kabîr vicâr ke

Kabîr ponders and says: "He

who has neither caste nor
country,

who is formless and without

quality, fills all space."

The Creator brought into

being the Game of Joy: and
from the word

Om the Creation sprang.

The earth is His joy; His joy is

the sky;
 His joy is the flashing of the
sun and the moon;

His joy is the beginning, the

middle, and the end;

His joy is eyes, darkness, and

light.

Oceans and waves are His joy:

His joy the Sarasvati, the
Jumna,

and the Ganges.

The Guru is One: and life and

death., union and separation,
 are

all His plays of joy!

His play the land and water,

the whole universe!

His play the earth and the

sky!

In play is the Creation spread

out, in play it is established.

The whole world, says Kabîr,

rests in His play, yet still the

Player remains unknown.

 LXXXIII

III. 84. jhî jhî jantar bâjai

The harp gives forth

murmurous music; and the
dance goes on

without hands and feet.

It is played without fingers, it

is heard without ears: for He
is

the ear, and He is the listener.

The gate is locked, but within

there is fragrance: and there
 the

meeting is seen of none.

The wise shall understand it.

LXXXIV

III. 89. mor phakîrwâ mângi

jây

The Beggar goes a-begging,

but

I could not even catch sight of

Him:

And what shall I beg of the

Beggar He gives without my
asking.

Kabîr says: "I am His own:

now let that befall which may
befall!"

LXXXV

III. 90. naihar se jiyarâ phât

re

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 husband.

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 parents with laughter

that I must go to my Lord 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 husband
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!"

LXXXVI

III. 96. jîv mahal men S'iv

pahunwâ

Serve your God, who has

come into this temple of life!
 Do not act the part of a
madman, for the night is
thickening

fast.

He has awaited me for

countless ages, for love of me
He has

lost His heart:

Yet I did not know the bliss

that was so near to me, for my
love

was not yet awake.

But now, my Lover has made
known to me the meaning of
the note

that struck my ear:

Now, my good fortune is

come.

Kabîr says: "Behold! how

great is my good fortune! I
have

received the unending caress

of my Beloved!"

LXXXVII
I. 71. gagan ghatâ ghaharânî,
sâdho

Clouds thicken in the sky! O,

listen to the deep voice of
their

roaring;

The rain comes from the east

with its monotonous murmur.

Take care of the fences and

boundaries of your fields, lest
the

rains overflow them;

 Prepare the soil of
deliverance, and let the
creepers of love and

renunciation be soaked in this

shower.

It is the prudent farmer who

will bring his harvest home;
he

shall fill both his vessels, and

feed both the wise men and
the

saints.
 LXXXVIII

III. 118. âj din ke main jaun

balihârî

This day is dear to me above

all other days, for to-day the

Beloved Lord is a guest in my

house;

My chamber and my
courtyard are beautiful with
His presence.

My longings sing His Name,

and they are become lost in
His great
 beauty:

I wash His feet, and I look

upon His Face; and I lay
before Him

as an offering my body, my
mind, and all that I have.

What a day of gladness is that

day in which my Beloved, who
is my

treasure, comes to my house!

All evils fly from my heart

when I see my Lord.
"My love has touched Him; my
heart is longing for the Name
which

is Truth."

Thus sings Kabîr, the servant

of all servants.

LXXXIX

I. 100. kôi s'untâ hai jñânî râg

gagan men

Is there any wise man who

will listen to that solemn
music which
 arises in the sky?

For He, the Source of all

music, makes all vessels full
fraught,

and rests in fullness Himself.

He who is in the body is ever

athirst, for he pursues that
which

is in part:

But ever there wells forth

deeper and deeper the sound
"He is
 this--this is He"; fusing love
and renunciation into one.

Kabîr says: "O brother! that is

the Primal Word."

XC

I. 108. main kâ se bûjhaun

To whom shall I go to learn

about my Beloved?

Kabîr says: "As you never may

find the forest if you ignore
the
 tree, so He may never be
found in abstractions."

XCI-C

XCI

III. 12. samskirit bhâshâ padhi

lînhâ

I have learned the Sanskrit

language, so let all men call
me

wise:

But where is the use of this,

when I am floating adrift, and
 parched with thirst, and
burning with the heat of
desire?

To no purpose do you bear on

your head this load of pride
and

vanity.

Kabîr says: "Lay it down in the

dust, and go forth to meet the

Beloved. Address Him as your

Lord."

XCII
 III. 110. carkhâ calai surat
virahin kâ

The woman who is parted

from her lover spins at the
spinning

wheel.

The city of the body arises in

its beauty; and within it the

palace of the mind has been

built.

The wheel of love revolves in

the sky, and the seat is made
 of

the jewels of knowledge:

What subtle threads the

woman weaves, and makes
them fine with

love and reverence!

Kabîr says: "I am weaving the

garland of day and night.
When my

Lover comes and touches me

with His feet, I shall offer Him
my
 tears."

XCIII

III. 111. kotîn bhânu candra

târâgan

Beneath the great umbrella of

my King millions of suns and
moons

and stars are shining!

He is the Mind within my

mind: He is the Eye within
mine eye.

Ah, could my mind and eyes

 be one! Could my love but
reach to my

Lover! Could but the fiery

heat of my heart be cooled!

Kabîr says: "When you unite

love with the Lover, then you
have

love's perfection."

XCIV

I. 92. avadhû begam des'

hamârâ

O sadhu! my land is a
 sorrowless land.

I cry aloud to all, to the king

and the beggar, the emperor
and

the fakir--

Whosoever seeks for shelter

in the Highest, let all come
and

settle in my land!

Let the weary come and lay

his burdens here!

So live here, my brother, that

 you may cross with ease to
that

other shore.

It is a land without earth or

sky, without moon or stars;

For only the radiance of Truth

shines in my Lord's Durbar.

Kabîr says: "O beloved

brother! naught is essential
save Truth."

XCV

I. 109. sâîn ke sangat sâsur âî

 Came with my Lord to my
Lord's home: but I lived not
with Him and

I tasted Him not, and my

youth passed away like a
dream.

On my wedding night my
women-friends sang in
chorus, and I was

anointed with the unguents of

pleasure and pain:

But when the ceremony was

over, I left my Lord and came
 away, and

my kinsman tried to console

me upon the road.

Kabîr says, "I shall go to my

Lord's house with my love at
my

side; then shall I sound the

trumpet of triumph!"

XCVI

I. 75. samajh dekh man mît

piyarwâ

O friend, dear heart of mine,

think well! if you love indeed,

then why do you sleep?

If you have found Him, then

give yourself utterly, and take
Him

to you.

Why do you loose Him again

and again?

If the deep sleep of rest has

come to your eyes, why waste
your

time making the bed and

 arranging the pillows?

Kabîr says: "I tell you the

ways of love! Even though the
head

itself must be given, why

should you weep over it?"

XCVII

II. 90. sâhab ham men, sâhab

tum men

The Lord is in me, the Lord is

in you, as life is in every seed.

O servant! put false pride

away, and seek for Him within
you.

A million suns are ablaze with

light,

The sea of blue spreads in the

sky,

The fever of life is stilled, and

all stains are washed away;

when I sit in the midst of that

world.

Hark to the unstruck bells and

drums! Take your delight in
love!
 Rains pour down without
water, and the rivers are
streams of

light.

One Love it is that pervades

the whole world, few there
are who

know it fully:

They are blind who hope to

see it by the light of reason,
that

reason which is the cause of

 separation--

The House of Reason is very

far away!

How blessed is Kabîr, that

amidst this great joy he sings
within

his own vessel.

It is the music of the meeting

of soul with soul;

It is the music of the

forgetting of sorrows;

It is the music that transcends

 all coming in and all going

forth.

XCVIII

II. 98. ritu phâgun niyarânî

The month of March draws

near: ah, who will unite me to
my Lover?

How shall I find words for the

beauty of my Beloved? For He
is

merged in all beauty.

 His colour is in all the
pictures of the world, and it
bewitches

the body and the mind.

Those who know this, know

what is this unutterable play
of the

Spring.

Kabîr says: "Listen to me,

brother' there are not many
who have

found this out."

 XCIX

II. 111. Nârad, pyâr so antar

nâhî

Oh Narad! I know that my

Lover cannot be far:

When my Lover wakes, I

wake; when He sleeps, I
sleep.

He is destroyed at the root

who gives pain to my Beloved.

Where they sing His praise,

there I live;
When He moves, I walk before
Him: my heart yearns for my
Beloved.

The infinite pilgrimage lies at

His feet, a million devotees
are

seated there.

Kabîr says: "The Lover

Himself reveals the glory of
true love."

II. 122. kôî prem kî peng

jhulâo re
Hang up the swing of love to-
day! Hang the body and the
mind

between the arms of the

Beloved, in the ecstasy of
love's joy:

Bring the tearful streams of

the rainy clouds to your eyes,
and

cover your heart with the

shadow of darkness:

Bring your face nearer to His

ear, and speak of the deepest
 longings of your heart.

Kabîr says: "Listen to me,

brother! bring the vision of
the

Beloved in your heart."