NOT FOR ME is the love that knows no restraint, but like the foaming wine that having burst its vessel in a moment would run to waste. Send me the love which is cool and pure like your rain that blesses the thirsty earth and fills the homely earthen jars. Send me the love that would soak down into the centre of being, and from there would spread like the unseen sap through the branching tree of life, giving birth to fruits and flowers. Send me the love that keeps the heart still with the fulness of peace.
WHO IS SHE who dwells in my heart, the woman forlorn for ever? I wooed her and I failed to win her. I decked her with wreaths and sang in her praise. A smile shone in her face for a moment, then it faded. 'I have no joy in thee,' she cried, the woman in sorrow. I bought her jewelled anklets and fanned her with a fan gem-studded; I made her a bed on a bedstead of gold. There flickered a gleam of gladness in her eyes, then it died. 'I have no joy in these,' she cried, the woman in sorrow. I seated her upon a car of triumph and drove her from end to end of the earth. Conquered hearts bowed down at her feet, and shouts of applause rang in the sky. Pride shone in her eyes for a moment, then it was dimmed in tears. 'I have no joy in conquest,' she cried, the woman in sorrow. I asked her, 'Tell me whom do you seek?' She only said, 'I wait for him of the unknown name.' Days pass by and she cries, 'When will my beloved come whom I know not, and be known to me for ever?'
