Friday, November 29, 2019

Santmat Kabir

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. 
(Kabir, version by Robert Bly)

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