THERE IS ROOM for you. You are alone with your few sheaves of rice. My boat is crowded, it is heavily laden, but how can I turn you away? your young body is slim and swaying; there is a twinkling smile in the edge of your eyes, and your robe is coloured like the rain-cloud.
The travellers will land for different roads and homes. You will sit for a while on the prow of my boat, and at the journey's end none will keep you back.
Where do you go, and to what home, to garner your sheaves? I will not question you, but when I fold my sails and moor my boat, I shall sit and wonder in the evening,-Where do you go, and to what home, to garner your sheaves?

             পথ চেয়ে যে কেটে গেল
                                 কত দিনে রাতে।
আজ          ধুলার আসন ধন্য করে
                                   বসবে কি মোর সাথে।
                রচবে তোমার মুখের ছায়া
                চোখের জলে মধুর মায়া,
                         নীরব হয়ে তোমার পানে
                                   চাইব গো জোড় হাতে।
                এরা সবাই কী বলে যে
                                   লাগে না মন আর,
                আমার হৃদয় ভেঙে দিল
                                   কী মাধুরীর ভার।
                   বাহুর ঘেরে তুমি মোরে
                   রাখবে না কি আড়াল করে,
                          তোমার আঁখি চাইবে না কি
                                   আমার বেদনাতে।

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.'