Kabir (d.1518)

Tale of love, untellable

Love's not grown in gardens;
Love's not sold at market.
He who wants it, king or commoner,
gives his head and takes it.
Studying great books many have died
none ever becomes learned.
Two letters and a half in love,
who studies them is learning.
Narrow is the lane of love.
Two will never fit.
When I was, the Lord was not.
Now He is; I am not.
Kabir says: clouds of love
came on me showering;
Soaked the heart
greening the inner jungle.
A heart dry of love;
God again untasted.
This is man in this world;
His arising wasted.
Roused, ecstatic with His name,
love-drunk, overflowing,
reveling in His vision
Why bother with liberation?
Tale of love, untellable.
Not a bit is ever told.
The sweets of a dumb one -
he enjoys and smiles.