WHEN THE weariness of the road is upon me, and the thirst of the sultry day; when the ghostly hours of the dusk throw their shadows across my life, then I cry not for your voice only, my friend, but for your touch. There is an anguish in my heart for the burden of its riches not given to you. Put out your hand through the night, let me hold it and fill it and keep it; let me feel its touch along the lengthening stretch of my loneliness.
III. 110. carkha calai surat virahin ka THE WOMAN who is parted from her lover spins at the spinning wheel. The city of the body arises in its beauty; and within it the palace of the mind has been built. The wheel of love revolves in the sky, and the seat is made of the jewels of knowledge: What subtle threads the woman weaves, and makes them fine with love and reverence! Kabir says: I am weaving the garland of day and night. When my Lover comes and touches me with His feet, I shall offer Him my tears.
