Love has nothing to do with
the five senses and the six directions:
Spring The year's first poem done,
If heaven the grateful liberty would give
That I might choose my method how to live,
Lift ev'ry voice and sing,
Till earth and heaven ring,
Do not leave me alone, a helpless woman.
My strength, my crown,
O Sleep, thou kindest minister to man, Silent distiller of the balm of rest,
God bless you all this Christmas Day
And drive the cares and griefs away.
This aloneness is worth more than a thousand lives.
This freedom is worth more than all the lands on earth.
GOD SPEAKS:
When you love someone, you love him as he is.
O Lord, we come this morning Knee-bowed and body-bent
If you want to have a beautiful New Year
The color of the rainbow or the color of your peace,
Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?
WHEN He Himself reveals Himself, Brahma brings into manifestation That which can never be seen.
As the seed is in the plant, as the shade is in the tree, as th
Thus did Radha and Krishna feel in their hearts the transports of first love. Their eyes spoke to each other the language of deep love and there was no need for
Let only that little be left of me
whereby I may name thee my all.
Welcome Christmas once again!
Come blizzard, snow or rime —
ONCE in the dream of a night I stood
Lone in the light of a magical wood,
The names of God and especially those of His representative Who is called Jesus or Christ according to holy books and
I have found a guru in Raidas, he has
given me the pill of knowledge.
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail
vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh li
Leave me a place underground, a labyrinth, where I can go, when I wish to turn,
I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm,
On a day I already remember.
I saw myself in a wide green garden, more beautiful than I could begin to understand. In this garden was a young girl. I said to her, "How wonderful this place
Gittin' used to his feet
On de solid ground.
Oye mi ruego Tú, Dios que no existes,
y en tu nada recoge estas mis quejas,
O HOW may I ever express that secret word?
O how can I say He is not like this, and He is like that?
by Kabir
7 lines, 2 comments
Grasshopper, your fairy song
And my poem alike belong
'Tis eve, the sun is sinking in the lake—
The lake, all glorious with his golden beams,
All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
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