III. 110. carkha calai surat virahin ka THE WOMAN who is parted from her lover spins at the spinning wheel. The city of the body arises in its beauty; and within it the palace of the mind has been built. The wheel of love revolves in the sky, and the seat is made of the jewels of knowledge: What subtle threads the woman weaves, and makes them fine with love and reverence! Kabir says: I am weaving the garland of day and night. When my Lover comes and touches me with His feet, I shall offer Him my tears.
THE ODOUR CRIES in the bud, 'Ah me, the day departs, the happy day of spring, and I am a prisoner in petals!' Do not lose heart, timid thing! Your bonds will burst, the bud will open into flower, and when you die in the fulness of life, even then the spring will live on. The odour pants and flutters within the bud, crying, 'Ah me, the hours pass by, yet I do not know where I go, or what it is I seek!' Do not lose heart, timid thing! The spring breeze has overheard your desire, the day will not end before you have fulfilled your being. Dark is the future to her, and the odour cries in despair, 'Ah me, through whose fault is my life so unmeaning?' 'Who can tell me, why I am at all?' Do not lose heart, timid thing! The perfect dawn is near when you will mingle your life with all life and know at last your purpose.
