Kabir In Translation
Monday, November 5, 2007 by Abhinav
No sooner will thee ingress my eyes, than I shall rest their guards;
That neither me to other minstrels, nor thee to other bards.
In this whirlwind of love, borne two trifles to greater heights;
When one meets the other, he in time’s opportunity delights.
‘Lo! Here the gardener comes,’ quiver buds by an anxious care;
Then pluck every gay flower, to adorn thy blackest hair.
So it is with water, it shuns the peaks and seeks the plains;
That the higher must thirst, and the lesser make draughty gains.
All that is done is your doing, my will hath no hand;
If my hand wills at all a deed, ‘tis your doing while I stand.
Aye fellow, feast on orts, and of cold waters drink;
And to the sight of others’ ledgers, do not fell think.
Naught in me is mine, aught is Thine;
To return Thee what is Thine is no loss of mine.
Content are all in this world, they eat and sleep;
Why then is Kabir awake, what malaise contrists so deep?