3O    


II. 95. ya tarvar men ek pakheru

 

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 shape, 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.

Kabir says: 'O brother Sadhu! deep is the mystery. Let wise men seek to know where rests that bird.'