One Hundred Poems by Kabir/12
XII
II. 24. haṃsā, kaho purātan bāt
Tell me, O Swan, your ancient tale.
From what land do you come, O Swan ? to what shore will you fly ?
Where would you take your rest, O Swan, and what do you seek ?
Even this morning, O Swan, awake, arise, follow me !
There is a land where no doubt nor sorrow have rule: where the terror of Death is no more.
There the woods of spring are a-bloom, and the fragrant scent "He is I" is borne on the wind:
There the bee of the heart is deeply immersed, and desires no other joy.