Songs of Kabir — trans. Rabindranath Tagore, with an introduction by Evelyn Underhill (1915)

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

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_