Hope For Him – Kabir

O friend! hope for Him whilst you live, know whilst you live,
understand whilst you live: for in life deliverance abides.
If your bonds be not broken whilst living, what hope of
deliverance in death?
It is but an empty dream, that the soul shall have union with Him
because it has passed from the body:
If He is found now, He is found then,
If not, we do but go to dwell in the City of Death.
If you have union now, you shall have it hereafter.
Bathe in the truth, know the true Guru, have faith in the true
Name!
Kabîr says: ‘It is the Spirit of the quest which helps; I am the slave of this Spirit of the quest.

The Spiritual Athlete Often Changes The Color Of His Clothes – Kabir

The spiritual athlete often changes the color of his clothes,
and his mind remains gray and loveless.

He sits inside a shrine room all day,
so that the Guest has to go outdoors and praise the rocks.

Or he drills holes in his ears, his hair grows
enormous and matted,
people mistake him for a goat…
He goes out into wilderness areas, strangles his impulses,
and makes himself neither male nor female…

He shaves his skull, puts his robe in an orange vat,
reads the Bhagavad-Gita, and becomes a terrific talker.

Kabir says: Actually you are going in a hearse
to the country of death,
bound hand and foot!

I Talk To My Inner Lover, And I Say, Why Such Rush? – Kabir

I talk to my inner lover, and I say, why such rush?
We sense that there is some sort of spirit that loves
birds and animals and the ants—
perhaps the same one who gave a radiance to you
in your mother’s womb.
Is it logical you would be walking around entirely
orphaned now?
The truth is you turned away yourself,
and decided to go into the dark alone.
Now you are tangled up in others, and have forgotten
what you once knew,
and that’s why eveything you do has some weird
failure in it.

The Bhakti Path – Kabir 

The bhakti path winds in a delicate way. 

On this path there is no asking and no not asking. 

The ego simply disappears the moment you touch 

him. 

The joy of looking for him is so immense that you 

just dive in, 

and coast around like a fish in the water. 

If anyone needs a head, the lover leaps up to offer 

his.

The Bride Soul – Kabir 

When will that day dawn, Mother; 

When the One I took birth for 

Holds me to His heart with deathless love? 

I long for the bliss of divine union. 

I long to lose my body, mind, and soul 

And become one with my husband. 

When will that day dawn, Mother? 

Husband, fulfil now the longing I have had 

Since before the universe was made. 

Enter me completely and release me. 

In terrible lonely years without You 

I yearn and yearn for You. 

I spend sleepless nights hunting for You, 

Gazing into darkness after You, 

With unblinking hopeless eyes. 

When will that day dawn, Mother? 

When will my Lord hold me to His heart? 

My empty bed, like a hungry tigress, 

Devours me whenever I try to sleep. 

Listen to your slave’s prayer – 

Come and put out this blaze of agony 

That consumes my soul and body. 

When will He hold me to His heart? 

When will that day dawn, Mother? 

Kabir sings, “If I ever meet You, my Beloved, 

I’ll cling to you so fiercely You melt into me; 

I’ll sing from inside You songs of union, 

World-dissolving songs of Eternal Bliss.”

The Moon Shines In My Body – Kabir 

The moon shines in my body, 

but my blind eyes cannot see it: 

The moon is within me, 

and so is the sun. 
The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; 

but my deaf ears cannot hear it. 
So long as man clamours for the ‘I’ and the ‘Mine’, 

his works are as naught: 

When all love of the ‘I’ and the ‘Mine’ is dead, 

then the work of the Lord is done. 
For work has no other aim than the getting of knowledge: 

When that comes, then work is put away. 
The flower blooms for the fruit: 

when the fruit comes, the flower withers. 

The musk is in the deer, 

but it seeks it not within itself: 

it wanders in quest of grass.

The Self Forgets Itself – Kabir 

The self forgets itself 

as a frantic dog in a glass temple 

barks himself to death; 

as a lion, seeing a form in the well, 

leaps on the image; 

as a rutting elephant sticks his tusk 

in a crystal boulder. 

The monkey has his fistful of sweets 

and won’t let go. So 

from house to house 

he gibbers. 

Kabir says, parrot-on-a-pole: 

who has caught you?