আমারে যদি জাগালে আজি নাথ,
          ফিরো না তবে ফিরো না, করো
              করুণ আঁখিপাত।
                     নিবিড় বন-শাখার 'পরে
                    আষাঢ়-মেঘে বৃষ্টি ঝরে,
                    বাদলভরা আলসভরে
                          ঘুমায়ে আছে রাত।
                         ফিরো না তুমি ফিরো না, করো
                           করুণ আঁখিপাত।
          বিরামহীন বিজুলিঘাতে
                নিদ্রাহারা প্রাণ
          বরষা-জলধারার সাথে
              গাহিতে চাহে গান।
          হৃদয় মোর চোখের জলে
          বাহির হল তিমিরতলে,
          আকাশ খোঁজে ব্যাকুল বলে
              বাড়ায়ে দুই হাত।
          ফিরো না তুমি ফিরো না, করো
              করুণ আঁখিপাত।

THEY SAID that Kabir, the weaver, was favoured of God, and the crowd flocked round him for medicine and miracles. But he was troubled; his low birth had hitherto endowed him with a most precious obscurity to sweeten with songs and with the presence of his God. He prayed that it might be restored.
        Envious of the repute of this outcast, the priests leagued themselves with a harlot to disgrace him. Kabir came to the market to sell cloths from his loom; when the woman grasped his hand, blaming him for being faithless, and followed him to his house, saying she would not be forsaken, Kabir said to himself, 'God answers prayers in his own way.'
        Soon the woman felt a shiver of fear and fell on her knees and cried, 'Save me from my sin!' To which he said, 'Open your life to God's light!'
        Kabir worked at his loom and sang, and his songs washed the stains from that woman's heart, and by way of return found a home in her sweet voice.
        One day the King, in a fit of caprice, sent a message to Kabir to come and sing before him. The weaver shook his head: but the messenger dared not leave his door till his master's errand was fulfilled.
        The King and his courtiers started at the sight of Kabir when he entered the hall. For he was not alone, the woman followed him. Some smiled, some frowned, and the King's face darkened at the beggar's pride and shamelessness.
        Kabir came back to his house disgraced, the woman fell at his feet crying, 'Why accept such dishonour for my sake, master? Suffer me to go back to my infamy!'
Kabir said, 'I dare not turn my God away when he comes branded with insult.'

THE FIRST flower that blossomed on this earth
was an invitation to the unborn song.