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.
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!"
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!"
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!"
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.