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NANAK

Burn worldly love,
grind its ashes and make it into ink;
turn: superior intellect into paper.
Make divine love thy pen,
and thy heart the writer,
ask the guru and write his instruction.
Write God’s name,
write His praises
write that He is neither end nor limit.
(Macauliffe)

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The peacocks are crying with joy;
O sisters, the rainy season hath come.
The fervent woman,
O God, is enamoured of Thy glances which bind her like a rope.
I am a sacrifice to a sight of Thee,
O God; to Thy name I am a sacrifice.

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