DO NOT CALL him to thy house, the dreamer, who walks alone by thy path in the night. His words are those of a strange land, and strange is the melody played by him on his one-stringed lute. There is no need for thee to spread a seat for him; he will depart before day-break. For in the feast of freedom he is asked to sing the praise of the new-born light.
I.117. sain se lagan kathin hai, bhai HOW HARD IT is to meet my Lord! The rain-bird wails in thirst for the rain: almost she dies of her longing, yet she would have none other water than the rain. Drawn by the love of music, the deer moves forward: she dies as she listens to the music, yet she shrinks not in fear. The widowed wife sits by the body of her dead husband: she is not afraid of the fire. Put away all fear for this poor body.
