I.117. sain se lagan kathin hai, bhai HOW HARD IT is to meet my Lord! The rain-bird wails in thirst for the rain: almost she dies of her longing, yet she would have none other water than the rain. Drawn by the love of music, the deer moves forward: she dies as she listens to the music, yet she shrinks not in fear. The widowed wife sits by the body of her dead husband: she is not afraid of the fire. Put away all fear for this poor body.
ACCEPT ME, my lord, accept me for this while. Let those orphaned days that passed without thee be forgotten. Only spread this little moment wide across thy lap, holding it under thy light. I have wandered in pursuit of voices that drew me yet led me nowhere. Now let me sit in peace and listen to thy words in the soul of my silence. Do not turn away thy face from my heart's dark secrets, but burn them till they are alight with thy fire.