I do not know what manner of God is mine.
The Mullah cries aloud to Him: and why? Is your Lord deaf? The
subtle anklets that ring on the feet of an insect when it moves
are heard of Him.
Tell your beads, paint your forehead with the mark of your God,
and wear matted locks long and showy: but a deadly weapon is in
your heart, and how shall you have God?



LXVIII


III. 102. ham se rahâ na jây

I hear the melody of His flute, and I cannot contain myself:
The flower blooms, though it is not spring; and already the bee
has received its invitation.
The sky roars and the lightning flashes, the waves arise in my
heart,
The rain falls; and my heart longs for my Lord.
Where the rhythm of the world rises and falls, thither my heart
has reached:
There the hidden banners are fluttering in the air.
Kabîr says: "My heart is dying, though it lives."



LXIX