I.48. sukh sugar men aike WHEN AT last you are come to the ocean of happiness, do not go back thirsty. Wake, foolish man! for Death stalks you. Here is pure water before you; drink it at every breath. Do not follow the mirage on foot, but thirst for the nectar; Dhruva, Prahlad, and Shukadeva have drunk of it, and also Raidas has tasted it: The saints are drunk with love, their thirst is for love. Kabir says: 'Listen to me, brother! The nest of fear is broken. Not for a moment have you come face to face with the world: You are weaving your bondage of falsehood, your words are full of deception: With the load of desires which you hold on your head, how can you be light?' Kabir says: 'Keep within you truth, detachment, and love.'
HALF ASLEEP ON the shore you dreaded the voice of Tempest when he thundered in your ears his 'No'. You had said to each other that the shore had its plenty, the house had its comfort, when suddenly grinding his flashing teeth Tempest growled 'No'. But I have made Tempest my comrade and left my shore, my ship tosses on the sea. I have trusted the Terrible, have filled my sails with his breath and my heart with his assurance that the shore is there. He cries to me, 'You are vagrant even as I am myself, Victory to you.' Things are shattered to pieces scattered by the wind, the timid murmur in despair, 'The end of time has come.' Tempest cries, 'Only that remains which is utterly given away.' With trust in him I march forward, I look not back while the hoarded heap is swept away by flood. My traveller's reed is tuned with the tune of his loud laughter, it sings: Away with lures of desire, with bonds that are fixed, with the achievement that is past and hope that is idle. Learn for your drum the dance-time of the reckless waves beating against rocks. Away with greed and fear, with tyranny's banner borne by slaves. Come Divine Destruction, drive us away from the house, from safety's easy path. Come with the flutter of your wings of death, spread upon the wind your cry 'No'. No rest, no languor, No load of feebleness weighing down the head. Knock and break open the miser's door. Scatter away the musty gloom of storage, banish the self-distrust that seeks a hole wherein to hide, and let your trumpet proclaim in the wind your terrible cry 'No'.