Between the conscious and the unconscious, the mind has put
up a swing:
all earth creatures, even the supernovas, sway between these
two trees,
and it never winds down.
Angels, animals, humans, insects by the million, also the
wheeling sun and moon;
ages go by, and it goes on.
Everything is swinging: heaven, earth, water, fire,
and the secret one slowly growing a body.
Kabir saw that for fifteen seconds, and it made him a servant
for life.
Translated by Robert Bly
Inside this clay jar there are meadows and groves and the One
who made them.
Inside this jar there are seven oceans and innumerable stars, acid
to test gold, and a patient appraiser of jewels.
Inside this jar the music of eternity, and a spring flows from the
source of all waters.
Kabir says: Listen, friend! My beloved Master lives inside.
Translated by Czeslate by Czeslaw Mtlosz and Robert Hass
Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat.
My shoulder is against yours.
You will not find me in stupas, not in Indian shrine rooms, nor in
synagogues, nor in cathedrals:
not in masses, nor kirtans, not in legs winding around your own
neck, nor in eating nothing but vegetables.
When you really look for me, you will see me instantly—
you will find me in the tiniest house of time.
Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God?
He is the breath inside the breath.
Translated by Robert Bly
My friend, this body is His lute. He tightens the strings and plays
its songs.
If the strings break and the pegs work loose, this lute, made of
dust, returns to dust.
Kabir says: Nobody else can wake from it that heavenly music.
Translated by Czeslaw Milosz and Robert Hass
I have been thinking of the difference between water
and the waves on it. Rising,
water’s still water, falling back,
it is water, will you give me a hint
how to tell them apart?
Because someone has made up the word
“wave,” do I have to distinguish it
from water?
There is a Secret One inside us;
the planets in all the galaxies
pass through his hands like beads.
That is a string of beads one should look at with luminous eyes.
Transwted by Robm Bly
Swan, tell me your old story.
What country have you come from, swan, what shores are you
flying to?
Where do you rest at night, and what are you looking for?
It’s dawn, swan, wake up, soar to the air, follow me!
There is a land not governed by sadness and doubt, where the
fear of death is unknown.
Spring forests bloom there and the wind is sweet with the flower
He-Is-Myself.
The bee of the heart dives into it and wants no other joy.
Translated by Czeslate by Czeslaw Mtlosz and Robert Hass
Student, do the simple purification.
You know that the seed is inside the horse-chestnut tree;
and inside the seed there are the blossoms of the tree, and the
chestnuts, and the shade.
So inside the human body there is the seed, and inside the seed
there is the human body again.
Fire, air, earth, water, and space—if you don’t want the secret
one,
you can’t have these either.
Thinkers, listen, tell me what you know of that is not inside the soul?
Take a pitcher full of water and set it down on the water—
now it has water inside and water outside.
We mustn’t give it a name,
lest silly people start talking again about the body and the soul.
If you want the truth, I’ll tell you the truth:
Listen to the secret sound, the real sound, which is inside you.
The one no one talks of speaks the secret sound to himself,
and he is the one who has made it all.
Translated by Robert Bly