SONGS OF KABIR

ON this tree is a bird: it dances in the joy of life. None knows where it is: and who knows what the burden of its music may be? Where the branches throw a deep p. 79 shade, there does it have its nest: and it comes in the evening and flies away in the morning, and says not a word of that which it means. None tell me of this bird that sings within me. It is neither coloured nor colourless: it has neither form nor outline: It sits in the shadow of love. It dwells within the Unattainable, the Infinite, and the Eternal; and no one marks when it comes and goes. Kabîr says: "O brother Sadhu! deep is the mystery. Let wise men seek to know where rests that bird."

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