I.126. murali bajat akhand sadaye THE FLUTE OF the Infinite is played without ceasing, and its sound is love: When love renounces all limits, it reaches truth. How widely the fragrance spreads! It has no end, nothing stands in its way. The form of this melody is bright like a million suns: incomparably sounds the vina, the vina of the notes of truth.
THEY CALL YOU mad. Wait for tomorrow and keep silent. They throw dust upon your head. Wait for tomorrow. They will bring their wreath. They sit apart in their high seat. Wait for tomorrow. They will come down and bend their head.
