The Kabir Book

18
Talk to my inner lover,
and I say, why such rush?

We sense that there is some sort of spirit
that loves birds and animals and the ants -
perhaps the same one
who gave a radiance to you in your mother's womb.

Is it logical you would be walking around entirely orphaned now?
The truth is you turned away yourself,
And decided to go into the dark alone.

Now you are tangled up in others, and have forgotten
what you once knew,
and that's why
everything you do has some weird failure in it.


19
Friend, hope for the Guest while you are alive.
Jump into experience while you are alive!
Think … and think … while you are alive.
What you call "salvation" belongs to the time before death.

If you don't break your ropes while you're alive,
do you think
ghosts will do it after?

The idea that the soul will join with the ecstastic
just because the body is rotten -
that is all fantasy.
What is found now is found then.
If you find nothing now,
You will simply end up with an apartment in the city
of Death.
If you make love with the divine now, in the next life
You will have the face of satisfied desire.

So plunge into the truth, find out who the Teacher is,
Believe in the Great Sound!

Kabir says this: When the Guest is being searched for,
it is the intensity of the longing for the Guest that does all the work.
Look at me, and you will see a slave of that intensity.


20
I know the sound of the ecstatic flute,
but I don't know whose flute it is.

A lamp burns and has neither wick nor oil.

A lily pad blossoms and is not attached to the bottom!

When one flower opens, ordinarily dozens open.

The moon bird's head is filled with nothing but
thoughts of the moon,
and when the next rain will come is all that the rain bird thinks of.

Who is it we spend our entire life loving?


27
It is time to put up a love-swing!
Tie the body and then tie the mind so that they
Swing between the arms of the Secret One you love,
Bring the water that falls from the clouds to your eyes,
and cover yourself inside entirely with the shadow of night.
Bring your face up close to his ear,
and then talk only about what you want deeply to happen
Kabir says: Listen to me, brother, bring the shape,
Face, and odor the Holy One inside you.


28
There is nothing but water in the holy pools.
I know, I have been swimming in them.
All the gods sculpted of wood or ivory can't say a word.
I know, I have been crying out to them.
The Sacred Books of the East are nothing but words.
I looked through their covers one day sideways.
What Kabir talks of is only what has lived through.
If you have not lived through something, it is not true.


38
Friend, please tell me what I can do about this world
I hold to, and keep spinning out!

I gave up sewn clothes, and wore a robe,
but I noticed one day the cloth was well woven.

So I bought some burlap, but I still
throw it elegantly over my left shoulder.

I pulled back my sexual longings,
and now I discover that I'm angry a lot.

I gave up rage, and now I notice
that I am greedy all day.

I worked hard at dissolving the greed,
and now I am proud of myself.

When the mind wants to break its link with the world
It still holds on to one thing.

Kabir says: Listen my friend,
There are very few that find the path!

Source: The Kabir Book. Forty-four of the Ecstatic Poems of Kabir. Versions by Robert Bly. A Seventies Press Book. Beacon Press-Boston.1977.

Marriage

by Kahlil Gibran

Then Almitra spoke again and said, 'And what of Marriage, master?'

And he answered saying:

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.

Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

Source: The Prophet

Gitanjali

Rabindranath Tagore

Mind Without Fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;

Where the world has not been broken up
into fragments by narrow domestic walls;

Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;

Where the clear stream of reason
has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;

Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.


Purity

Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing
that thy living touch is upon all my limbs.

I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing
that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my mind.

I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my
love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart.

And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it
is thy power gives me strength to act.


Moment's Indulgence

I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works
that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.

Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.

Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and
the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.

Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing
dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.


Fool

O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders!
O beggar, to come beg at thy own door!

Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all,
and never look behind in regret.

Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath.
It is unholy---take not thy gifts through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.


Leave This

Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads!
Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut?

Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee!
He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground
and where the pathmaker is breaking stones.

He is with them in sun and in shower,
and his garment is covered with dust.
Put off thy holy mantle and even like him come down on the dusty soil!

Deliverance?
Where is this deliverance to be found?

Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation;
he is bound with us all for ever.

Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense!
What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained?
Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow.


Lamp of Love

Light, oh where is the light?
Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!

There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame---is such thy fate, my heart?
Ah, death were better by far for thee!

Misery knocks at thy door,
and her message is that thy lord is wakeful,
and he calls thee to the love-tryst through the darkness of night.

The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless.
I know not what this is that stirs in me---I know not its meaning.

A moment's flash of lightning drags down a deeper gloom on my sight,
and my heart gropes for the path to where the music of the night calls me.

Light, oh where is the light!
Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!
It thunders and the wind rushes screaming through the void.

The night is black as a black stone.
Let not the hours pass by in the dark.
Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.


Dungeon

He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon.

I am ever busy building this wall all around; and as this wall goes up into
the sky day by day I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.

I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand
lest a least hole should be left in this name;
and for all the care I take I lose sight of my true being.


Give Me Strength

This is my prayer to thee, my lord---strike,
strike at the root of penury in my heart.

Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.
Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.

Give me the strength never to disown the poor
or bend my knees before insolent might.

Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.
And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love.


Innermost One

He it is, the innermost one,
who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches.

He it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes
and joyfully plays on the chords of my heart
in varied cadence of pleasure and pain.

He it is who weaves the web of this maya
in evanescent hues of gold and silver, blue and green,
and lets peep out through the folds his feet,
at whose touch I forget myself.

Days come and ages pass,
and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name,
in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow.


Face to Face

Day after day, O lord of my life,
shall I stand before thee face to face.

With folded hands, O lord of all worlds,
shall I stand before thee face to face.

Under thy great sky in solitude and silence,
with humble heart shall I stand before thee face to face.

In this laborious world of thine, tumultuous with toil
and with struggle, among hurrying crowds
shall I stand before thee face to face.

And when my work shall be done in this world,
O King of kings, alone and speechless
shall I stand before thee face to face.


Let Me Not Forget

If it is not my portion to meet thee in this life
then let me ever feel that I have missed thy sight
---let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.

As my days pass in the crowded market of this world
and my hands grow full with the daily profits,
let me ever feel that I have gained nothing
---let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.

When I sit by the roadside, tired and panting,
when I spread my bed low in the dust,
let me ever feel that the long journey is still before me
---let me not forget a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.

When my rooms have been decked out and the flutes sound
and the laughter there is loud,
let me ever feel that I have not invited thee to my house
---let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.


Lost Time

On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time.
But it is never lost, my lord.
Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.

Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts,
buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.

I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed
and imagined all work had ceased.

In the morning I woke up
and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.


Death

O thou the last fulfilment of life,
Death, my death, come and whisper to me!

Day after day I have kept watch for thee;
for thee have I borne the joys and pangs of life.

All that I am, that I have, that I hope and all my love
have ever flowed towards thee in depth of secrecy.

One final glance from thine eyes
and my life will be ever thine own.

The flowers have been woven
and the garland is ready for the bridegroom.

After the wedding the bride shall leave her home
and meet her lord alone in the solitude of night.


Last Curtain

I know that the day will come
when my sight of this earth shall be lost,
and life will take its leave in silence,
drawing the last curtain over my eyes.

Yet stars will watch at night,
and morning rise as before,
and hours heave like sea waves casting up pleasures and pains.

When I think of this end of my moments,
the barrier of the moments breaks
and I see by the light of death
thy world with its careless treasures.

Rare is its lowliest seat,
rare is its meanest of lives.

Things that I longed for in vain
and things that I got
---let them pass.

Let me but truly possess
the things that I ever spurned
and overlooked.


Parting Words

When I go from hence
let this be my parting word,
that what I have seen is unsurpassable.

I have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus
that expands on the ocean of light,
and thus am I blessed
---let this be my parting word.

In this playhouse of infinite forms
I have had my play
and here have I caught sight of him that is formless.

My whole body and my limbs
have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch;
and if the end comes here, let it come
---let this be my parting word.

All poems of Gitanjali: http://www.schoolofwisdom.com/gitanjali.html
Want to read in Nepali?

We

by Bhupi Sherchan

translated in english by Dr Tara Nath Sharma

However much we raise ourselves up,
However much we run here and there,
However loud we may roar

However, we are merely drops of water,
Impotent drops of water
Which are drawn up by the sun
And become clouds,

We run here and there at the signal of the wind
And we feel ourselves full of motion,
And once we reach the heights
We forget our own land,
And with scorn towards our own land,
At the rivers, at the banks,
Like tame dogs looking through the window
Barking at dogs in the street
We bark
And feel out own dog's barking to be a roar
And one day, eventually, we fall to pieces
And we are once again transformed into drops of water
And as drops we spend our lives stagnating
In some gutter, well or lake
Keeping disgusting frogs which crock, crock,
Embracing snakes without venom.

However much we raise ourselves up,
However much we run here and there,
However loud we roar,
However, deep within, we are hollow.
Our roar carries no more weight than
the hiss of an ember thrown into water.

2

However high we may look from outside
Deep within we are being continually worn away
Our superficial height is false, it's a delusion

It has no more importance than the height of
A little mushroom growing on top of a hill,
There is nothing more special about it than
The height if the Indian acrobat tying two bamboos
to his legs as stilts
It is no more important than the height
Of a circus clown dancing with a high pointed hat,
We are pleased with our outward, height,
We are charmed, we are proud
But we, on the island of our own beliefs
Have forgotten
that we are constantly being ground down and worn away
Washed up on the little island of inferiority we
Have lost the memory of our own past
We have forgotton the common stature of man
We have forgotten the stature of the common man
Like the Gulliver described in the story,
Comes and lies down on the island of our beliefs
We look at him in disbelief
We feel disbelief at looking at him
We are astonished on seeing his height
And we are afraid seeing our own smallness
And that is why from our own feeling of inferiority
We attack him, with little weapons no bigger than heedles,
We climb over is limbs,
We jump, we bite, we pinch,
And, finally, exhausted we descend,
We are at peace, we accept our defeat,
Like the sea tide surging over o boulder
Descends and washes its feet,
We begin to worship that common man
thinking him great.

3

However tall we might look from outside,
Deep within we are always ground down and wearing away
We are the men of Lilliput We are little men.

We cannot get along of our own accord
there must be someone to bring us together,
We cannot be divided of our own accord
there must be someone to separate us,
We are unable to go ahead of our own accord
there must be someone to drive us forward,
There must be someone to lead us along,
we are the old pieces for the table-top game of 'ricochet'
Splintered, broken, whose colors have worn away,
we are mere the materials for a good game,
We depend upon a player, having lost our own ability to move,
We require a 'striker',
Yes, we are less like human beings and more like pawns.

4

We are brave, but we are dumb
We are dumb, and that is why we are brave
We were never able to be brave withour being dumb
We are the Ekalabya described in the tale of the Mahabharata
Dronacharya, the teacher of every generation, hates us,
He excludes us from his gift of knowledge
He refuses to recognize our capacity,
Our power, and even our existence,
But, we make an image of this very Dronacharya
In front of our own hut,
We worship it, we bow down to it.

5

We endlessly practice the skill of archery,
And we become more skillful than his other noble disciples,
But, being wonderstruck and frightened of our abilitty,
In every generation Dronacharya come to us
And we gladly, at his signal,
Cut off our thumb and offer it to him as a gift,
Destroying our own existence we hand it over to him
And we are ecstatic about our devotion to our teacher
About the strength of our own souls.
It is because of that we are brave
But, we are dumb
And that is why we are brave
We were never able to be brave without being dumb
We could never become brave without setting up an image of someone.

6

We are feet, just feet
and only feet.
Feet: the support on which the body stands.
Feet: on which the body walks.
Feet: relying on which the body runs.
Feet: Which think that they are kept
As a favor by the body.
Being kind to them, it takes them along with it.
Ecstatic over the greatness of the body
And always bears the whole burden to the body,
they never raise their heads and look up
They always remain bent over
We are feet
We come in first in the race
And our forhead gets the 'tika'
We come in first in the race
And our chest receives the medal.
The forehead which gets the 'tika' belongs to somebody else.
The neck which wears the garland belongs to somebody else.
The chest which receives the medal belongs to somebody else.
We are just feet which run, which wald, which stand
Merely at the direction of someone else.
Just feet and only feet.

7

We are nothing, and perhaps that's why we are something !
We are nowhere and we are nothing,
And, perhaps, that is why we are somewhere and we are something
we are not living, but, perhaps,
That is the reason we are still alive.
Because of that come, oh worshippers of emptiness;
Let us worship this emptiness completely
Let us all, together practice prostrating to it
to this god of our existence.

Yuyutsu R.D. Sharma's translations
Original source: http://penhimalaya.netfirms.com/bhupi_sherchan.htm
Original Nepali poem: हामी