The month of March draws near: ah, who will unite me to my Lover?
How shall I find words for the beauty of my Beloved? For He is
merged in all beauty.
His colour is in all the pictures of the world, and it bewitches
the body and the mind.
Those who know this, know what is this unutterable play of the
Spring.
Kabîr says: "Listen to me, brother' there are not many who have
found this out."



XCIX


II. 111. Nârad, pyâr so antar nâhî

Oh Narad! I know that my Lover cannot be far:
When my Lover wakes, I wake; when He sleeps, I sleep.
He is destroyed at the root who gives pain to my Beloved.
Where they sing His praise, there I live;
When He moves, I walk before Him: my heart yearns for my Beloved.
The infinite pilgrimage lies at His feet, a million devotees are
seated there.
Kabîr says: "The Lover Himself reveals the glory of true love."



C