III. 90. naihar se jiyara phat re
MY HEART cries aloud for the house of my lover; the open road and the shelter of a roof are all one to her who has lost the city of her husband.
My heart finds no joy in anything: my mind and my body are distraught.
His place has a million gates, but there is a vast ocean between it and me:
How shall I cross it, O friend? for endless is the outstretching of the path.
How wondrously this lyre is wrought! When its strings are rightly strung, it maddens the heart: but when the keys are broken and the strings are loosened, none regard it more.
I tell my parents with laughter that I must go to my Lord in the morning;
They are angry, for they do not want me to go, and they say: 'She thinks she has gained such dominion over her husband that she can have
whatsoever she wishes; and therefore she is impatient to go to him.'
Dear friend, lift my veil lightly now; for this is the night of love.
Kabir says: 'Listen to me! My heart is eager to meet my lover: I lie sleepless upon my bed. Remember me early in the morning!'

যখন শুনালে, কবি, দেবদম্পতিরে
কুমারসম্ভবগান, চারি দিকে ঘিরে
দাঁড়ালো প্রমথগণ--শিখরের 'পর
নামিল মন্থর শান্ত সন্ধ্যামেঘস্তর
স্থগিত-বিদ্যুৎ-লীলা, গর্জনবিরত,
কুমারের শিখী করি পুচ্ছ অবনত
স্থির হয়ে দাঁড়াইল পার্বতীর পাশে
বাঁকায়ে উন্নত গ্রীবা। কভু স্মিতহাসে
কাঁপিল দেবীর ওষ্ঠ, কভু দীর্ঘশ্বাস
অলক্ষ্যে বহিল, কভু অশ্রুজলোচ্ছ্বাস
দেখা দিল আঁখিপ্রান্তে--যবে অবশেষে
ব্যাকুল শরমখানি নয়ননিমেষে
নামিল নীরবে, কবি, চাহি দেবীপানে
সহসা থামিলে তুমি অসমাপ্ত গানে।

SHE IS STILL a child, my lord.
She runs about your palace and plays, and tries to make of you a plaything as well.
She heeds not when her hair tumbles down and her careless garment drags in the dust.
She falls asleep when you speak to her and answers not-and the
flower you give her in the morning slips to the dust from her hands.
When the storm bursts and darkness is over the sky she is sleepless; her dolls lie scattered on the earth and she clings to you in terror.
She is afraid that she may fail in service to you.
But with a smile you watch her at her game.
You know her.
The child sitting in the dust is your destined bride; her play will be stilled and deepened into love.