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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.

(Translation: Max Arthur MACAULIFFE)

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.

Since Thou art my Master I am proud; without Thee what pride should I have?

O woman, break thy couch with its frame and thine arm with their bracelets,[2]

Since, notwithstanding thy decorations, the. Lord is enamoured of others.

Thou needest not a bracelet-dealer, or silver, or glass bracelets: