Amrita Pritam ji is considered the first prominent woman Punjabi poet, novelist, and essayist. She was born in Guranwala, (Punjab) Pakistan on August 31 1919. She died on 31st October 2005 at the age of 86 in Hauz Khas (New Delhi), after a long illness, survived by her daughter, son and grandson. Amrita’s mother died when she was eleven and the only child of her parents. Soon after, she and her father moved to Lahore. Confronting adult responsibilities, she began to write at an early age. Her first collection was published when she was only sixteen years old, the year she married Pritam Singh, an editor to whom she was engaged in early childhood.

When the former British India was partitioned into the independent states of India and Pakistan, she migrated to New Delhi, India in 1947.Like many others; she lived the agony of partition when millions of people from all religions died due to communal violence. She expressed her agony in this poem, “Aaj Aakhaan Waris Shah Noo”, addressed to the Sufi poet Waris Shah, author of the tragic saga of Heer and Ranjah, the Punjabi national epic. This poem is my personal favorite one, screening her tenderness of pain caused due to the flames of fire of partition 1947, and I think this is one of the signature poems where she challenges the literature of Punjab,

Utth dard-mandaan dey dardiyaa tak apna Punjab
Beyley laashaan vichhiyaan
Teh lahoo da bharya Chenab

(Sharer of stricken hearts,
Look at your Punjab,
Corpses are strewn in the field
Blood flows in the Chenab.)

Her story cannot be completed without the name of Sahir Ludhianvi. She was involved with him when she asked her husband for divorce. But Sahir then found a new woman in his life. The journey of life of Amrita ji would not be completed without even conversing about Sahir ji. A bachelor to the end, Sahir fell in love with writer Amrita Pritam and singer Sudha Malhotra, relationships that never fructified in the conventional sense and left him sad. Ironically, the two ladies’ fathers wouldn’t accept Sahir, an atheist, because of his perceived religion. A young Amrita Pritam, madly in love with Sahir, wrote his name hundreds of times on a sheet of paper while addressing a press conference. They would meet without exchanging a word, Sahir would puff away; after Sahir’s departure, Amrita would smoke the cigarette butts left behind by him. After his death, Amrita said she hoped the air mixed with the smoke of the butts would travel to the other world and meet Sahir! Such was their obsession and intensity.

There was a grief I smoked
in silence, like a cigarette

only a few poems fell
out of the ash I flicked from it.

Amrita grew closer to Imroz whom she had known for many years. Amrita Pritam lived the last forty years of her life with the renowned artist, Imroz. The eminent Punjabi poet and novelist is worthy of much more than what she has been given the acknowledgment. This beautiful young woman has a audacious story, she began her literary voyage in Lahore in 1935 when she penned her first book of verse in Punjabi called Thandian Kirnan. She considered being pioneer woman writing in Punjabi, portraying Punjabi culture, thoughts, literature, and comptemprary art of living.

Professionally she worked for All India Radio. From 1960, after her divorce she worked primarily for woman society. Some of her stories and poems depicted clearly the unhappy incidents of her marriage. A number of her works have been translated into English, French, Japanese and other languages from Punjabi and Urdu, including her autobiographical works Black Rose and Revenue Stamp (Raseedi Tikkat in Punjabi).

Also wrote many books which were filmed later i.g. Daaku (Dacoit), Pinjar (The Skeleton) a novel based on the torments of partition. She received many awards including Padma Vibhushan (India’s second highest civilian award), Sahitya Akademi Award etc.

Since childhood, we are reading her work. During my stays in Punjab, her name was taken with great respect and her literature found the place in Schools and Universities and so do in the hearts of many people, bookshelves used to be filled with books, magazines and her fine oeuvre. One poem I remember very well “Main kal tak nahi rehna,” was sung by many folk artists of Punjab and get in touch with masses.

Recently, Gulzar (Famous Indian poet and Film maker) released an album (Gulzar presents Amrita Pritam), rendering himself dozens of her poems and his poetic views. Gulzar says “Amrita ji, Amrita Pritam ji has travelled whole 20^th century on pages of Punjabi poetry. Once crossed the threshold of 20^th century, her body fatigued, soul was fresh even then. Perhaps she got up to walk and Imroz held her hand, who was her travel companion from last century. She turned back, but his hand was not moved away, not even his fingers and she said “Main tenu phir milangi” (I will meet you again)”

Mein tainu pher milan gi (I will meet you yet again)

I will meet you yet again
How and where? I know not.
Perhaps I will become a
figment of your imagination
and maybe, spreading myself
in a mysterious line
on your canvas,
I will keep gazing at you.

Perhaps I will become a ray
of sunshine, to be
embraced by your colours.
I will paint myself on your canvas
I know not how and where –
but I will meet you for sure.

Maybe I will turn into a spring,
and rub the foaming
drops of water on your body,
and rest my coolness on
your burning chest.
I know nothing else
but that this life
will walk along with me.

When the body perishes,
all perishes;
but the threads of memory
are woven with enduring specks.
I will pick these particles,
weave the threads,
and I will meet you yet again.

-Amrita Pritam.

(Translated by Nirupama Dutt and published in The Little Magazine2005)

The Album follows her other beautiful poems as O Sai Tere Charkhe Ne, Rang De Dupatta Mera, Channa De Phulkari, Rishte Ghadde Da Pani, Kufr which is on the pains of Partition, Aye Mere Dost, Mere Ajbabi and the famous Akkha Waris Shah that has immortalised her. The last part begins with Amrita promising Imroz again that she will come back to him. It concludes with a poem by Imroz Beej on Amrita that dawned on him after she died.

Courtesy- Amrita Pritam recited by Gulzar

PHOTO

Amrita Pritam and Imroz

The Story So Far

No one can really judge the real relationship of Amrita Pritam ji with Imroz. Imroz by profession is a painter and is less knowned than Amrita Ji. The married life of Amrita ji with her husband was not in good health, she was a great admirer of well know poet and lyricist Sahir Ludhianvi. She divorced her husband to seek love shelter from Sahir, but relationship ruptured with Sahir too. At this time (1960s) Imroz, who was previously a friend of Amritaji, provided emotional hold and their liaison began growing. Being younger to Amrita ji and living in Indian high values society, Imroz still gave her soul companionship. Amrita ji and Imroz were great soul mates never lived but they shared the floors of same house in Delhi along with children. She used to write very long letters, poetic, full of emotions and pathos to Imroz. She used to address Imroz as “Mere Mehboob” (My beloved) and discuss many themes of the social order and society. Their love remained a ‘sacred hymn’ and became a pure platonic saga of love.

When I wrapped myself with your being

Our bodies turned inwards in contemplation

Our limbs intertwined

Like blossoms in a garland

Like an offering at the altar of the spirit

Our names, slipping out of our lips,

Became a sacred hymn . . .

Their influences

Amritaji never lived life sadly, contrary she was pensive and thoughtful person and so do Imroz, both the artistes filled their gloomy emotions in their work (Nazms, poems and Canvases) but never in their lives. I am a great admirer of both the artistes, and about their handling of delicate sort of relationship. Their love was never bound of physical terms of limits but it went beyond that in the form of words, canvas, poems, colours, ideas, thoughts etc. I feel like that their love for each other is complementary and paired to each other. When Amrita ji writes a poem, it shows the different images and insights of Punjabi cultures and satires. The same way when Imroz lays emotion on canvas, metamorphic scenes and words ponders through mind and senses. I remember very well the renowned portrait of One of the great poets of Punjab Shiv Kumar Batalvi (King of Sorrow) made by Imroz. You can see here

PHOTO

When Mr Jagjit Singh was recording this album, Shiv Kumar Batalvi was in hospital in Shimla and later he died on May 7 1973 at the age of 37. Shiv was apparently deeply in love with a girl who passed away suddenly. Shiv’s phenomenal approach towards the meaning of solitude makes him stand at the top of all those poets who have ever described loneliness. Shiv as the traditional poetical phenomenon was born out of the literary conjugation (kalmi sanjog) of Amrita Pritam and Professor Mohan Singh, to whom he appropriately dedicated his most important creation, Birha Toon Sultan (which means Separation thou art The King).

During the same period Jagjit Singh wanted his photo for the cover of Album but could not find any so he approached Imroz for the same. As you can see this portrait has been done by Imroz and forward has been written by Amrita Pritam for this Album.

Here is an article written by Amrita Pritam ji admiring Shiv kumar Batalvi for the album cover of Jagjit Singh and Chitra Singh’s Album called Birha da Sultan released in 1976.

“Shiv kumar Batalvi is the only modern Punjabi poet who sung like a phoenix and his own fire eventually consumed him.

One day while taking to me he asked, “Who has sown the seeds of sigh in my chest? Who has transplanted sorrows in my thoughts? I am a sigh escaping from a woman’s womb, moist with cold sweat…I am a shrill cry of a lonely bird in the sky of her womb. I am a falling star in the ocean of her milk… like a dying ember in her hearth.”

And he added, “I shoved the sigh in the pocket of my life, which gradually rusted, a coloured sigh has a thousand names – broken promises, agonising pains… one day the coloured lips get burnt, the death of my first love quietened them, my sigh tried to commit suicide, but there were a few friends – a few commitments – a few dreams held it back, probably the unfulfilled dreams were reaching out for fulfilment. They were drenched in the spring of pain and flowers of hope blossomed… the hope did not die, nor did the life. These, my songs, are the wounded birds and their painful moans are my poetry.”

And he started living intensely, in a breathless haste. He embraced the whole Punjab in his tender arms and held tight the land, the trees and even the thorny cactus.

And now when he is no more with us, I feel the ‘king of sorrow’ has gone to god to borrow some fresh and virgin pains.

HMV offers this magnificent Long Play Record as its humble tribute to the great poet.”

(-Amrita Pritam)

Her Poetry

Waris Shah— Ajj Akhan Waris Shah Nu ( Her best-known work is a classic poem, addressed to the great eighteenth-century Sufi poet Waris Shah, in which she laments the carnage of Partition and calls on him to give voice from his grave.)

Poem [PUNJABI]

Ajj aakhan waaris shah noo kiton qabran vichon bol!
te aj kitab-e-ishq da koi agla varka phol!

ik roi si dhee punjab dee tuu likh-likh mare vain
aj lakkhan dheeyan rondian tainuun waaris shah noon kahan

uth darmandan diaa dardiaa uth tak apna punjaab!
aj bele laashaan vichiiaan te lahu dii bharii chenaab!

kise ne panja paanian vich dittii zahir rala!
te unhaan paaniaan dharat nun dittaa paanii laa!

jitthe vajdii phuuk pyaar di ve oh vanjhli gayi guaach
ranjhe de sab veer aj bhul gaye usdi jaach

dharti te lahu vasiya, qabran payiyan chon
preet diyan shaahazaadiiaan aj vich mazaaraan ron

aj sab ‘qaido’ ban gaye, husn ishq de chor
aj kithon liaaiie labbh ke waaris shah ik hor

aj aakhan waaris shah noon kiton qabran vichon bol!
te aj kitab-e-ishq da koi agla varka phol!

Poem [ENGLISH TRANSLATION]

I say to Waris Shah today, speak from your grave
And add a new page to your book of love

Once one daughter of Punjab wept, and you wrote your long saga;
Today thousands weep, calling to you Waris Shah:

Arise, o friend of the afflicted; arise and see the state of Punjab,
Corpses strewn on fields, and the Chenaab flowing with much blood.

Someone filled the five rivers with poison,
And this same water now irrigates our soil.

Where was lost the flute, where the songs of love sounded?
And all Ranjha’s brothers forgotten to play the flute.

Blood has rained on the soil, graves are oozing with blood,
The princesses of love cry their hearts out in the graveyards.

Today all the Quaido’ns have become the thieves of love and beauty,
Where can we find another one like Waris Shah?

Waris Shah! I say to you, speak from your grave
And add a new page to your book of love.

(This translation is taken from book in English by Darshan Singh Maini called STUDIES IN PUNJABI POETRY)

Poem [FRENCH TRANSLATION]

J’invoque aujourd’hui Varis Shah

J’invoque aujourd’hui Varis Shah : « Parle, de n’importe où, de ta tombe,
et du livre de l’amour aujourd’hui tourne encore une page !
Une fille avait pleuré, une enfant du Panjab, et tu écrivis une élégie.
Les filles sont aujourd’hui des milliers à pleurer, qui te disent, Varis Shah :

“Lève-toi, sympathisant des malheureux, lève-toi, regarde ton Panjab !
Le marais est aujourd’hui jonché de cadavres et pleine de sang la Chenab.
Quelqu’un aux cinq rivières a mêlé du poison
et la terre a été arrosée de leur eau.
Du poison a germé dans chaque parcelle de cette terre fertile,
qui s’est un peu partout couverte de taches rouges et de calamités.

Un vent vénéneux alors a soufflé sur les forêts,
de chaque flûte en roseau il a fait un serpent
et voici que les serpents ont hypnotisé les gens et mordu, mordu ;
en tout lieu le corps du Panjab a bleui.

Les chants ont rompu avec les gorges, les fils avec les fuseaux,
les compagnes avec les parties de filage; les rouets se sont tus.
Luddan a fait couler le bateau-lit,
la balançoire aujourd’hui a cassé les branches du pipal.
Elle est perdue cette flûte où chantait le souffle de l’amour
et les frères de Ranjha ont tous oublié comment il en jouait.

Le sang s’est épanché sur le sol, il s’écoule des tombes.
Les princesses de l’amour pleurent dans les sanctuaires.

Tous aujourd’hui sont devenus des Kaido, voleurs d’amour et de beauté.
Où trouver aujourd’hui un autre Varis Shah ?” »

J’invoque aujourd’hui Varis Shah : “Parle, de n’importe où, de ta tombe,
et du livre de l’amour aujourd’hui tourne encore une page !”

(Translated in French by Denis Matringe from PunjabiTraduits du panjabi par Denis Matringe /“La Vérité” – Traduit du panjabi par Denis Matringe (135 p.) – 1989, Editions des femmes)

Amrita Pritam never woke up on the afternoon of October 31, 2005 and the world is emptier without her musings. She embodied the fullness of poetic expression, creativity and the intensity of a woman in the perpetual state of love. Amrita’s voice was rooted in the South Asian idiom with all its contradictions, diversity and a faint recognition of fate. Her remarkable affinity with the depths of the Punjabi language adds to her iconoclastic status in India, Pakistan and wherever Punjabi is spoken and appreciated. Yet her audience has been global as well: her work was translated into dozens of world languages.

Amrita Pritam is not dead; her dreams of peace, universal love and triumph of humanism will continue to shape our collective memories. This is not a time to mourn but to acknowledge that Amrita has crossed another milestone in her quest for self-knowledge and love. Au revoir, Amrita!

One of her poems makes the following confession:

Today I have erased the number of my house
And removed the stain of identity on my street’s forehead
And I have wiped the direction on each road
But if you really want to meet me
Then knock at the doors of every country
Every city, every street
And wherever a glimpse of a free spirit exists
That will be my home

(Translation found from Outlook India)

Presenting you her extract from an article Visions of Divinity for a magazine called Life Positive, published on April 1996. She expresses her visions over spiritualities

“This happened in 1999, in the early hours of March 14. When I woke, I was astonished, but happy. And for almost a year, I was under the spell of this question—that Sai had been concerned with my well-being. Almost a year passed and much later,one day, I was lighting some incense in front of Sai Baba when I sensed that I was not the one holding the stick of incense, but had myself become the incense, the incense that wanted to burn at the shrine of Sai. And this whole experience came to life, word by word, and set itself down on paper. Sai, please give me a little bit of fire from your chillum…

I am your incense and for a little while will burn at your shrine.
I have kneaded your passion into my own clay.
When this body smolders, smoke will rise.
This body’s smoke will flicker and will say only this much-
Whatever breezes pass through’ these touch your breath, I want to become one with those breezes.

Sai, Please give me a little bit of fire from your chillum….
I am your incense and for a little while will burn at your shrine.”

I hope you liked this exhaustive editorial on the legendary Amrita Pritam ji which I wanted to write since long, I feel she is the only lady from Punjab who overturned the pages of history in her own ways and many great writers like Mr Khushwant Singh still believes that she is the most influential Indian woman from Punjab . I welcome you to leave your comments and notes.

Thank you

Anil Vohra

Paris France

His beauty
Was sharp as sunlight.
He was thirsty for perfumes.
His color was the color of a rose,
The son of a fair mother.
I was enamored!

His eyes,
Were an evening in springtime.
His hair, a dark cloud.
His lips,
A rising autumn dawn.
I was enamored!

His breath
Was filled with flowers,
Like a sandalwood garden.
Spring danced thru his body
So bathed was it in fragrances.
I was enamored!.

In his words
Blew the eastern breeze,
Like the sound of a blackbird.
His smile was the whiteness of a crane in the rice fields,
Taking flight at the clap of a hand.
I was enamored!.

I laid
A bed of love
In the moonlight.
My body-sheet was stained
The instant he laid his foot on my bed.
I was enamored!

The corners of my eyes,
Hurt.
A flood of tears engulfed me.
All night long I tried to fathom
How he did this to me.
I was enamored!

Early in the morning
I scrubbed and bathed my body
With vaTana.
But embers kept bursting out,
And my hands flagged.
I was enamored!

I crushed choori,
He would not eat it.
So I fed him the flesh of my heart.
He took flight, such a flight did he take,
That he never returned.
I was enamored!

Mother! Mother!
I befriended a hawk.
A plume on his head
Bells on his feet,
He came pecking for grain.
I was enamored!
Dear Friends this is a punjabi poem translation of a very well known writer Shiv Kumar Batalvi who is often regarded as the Keats of Punjabi, is perhaps the most important poet of modern Punjabi. He is a vivid sorcerer with words whose writings revolve primarily around grief in human life, especially in love and have the capacity to pierce hearts and move mountains. The most striking characteristic of his pennings is the the use of beautiful imagery through extensive symbolisms.

Following is the original punjabi version of the poem,

Shikra – The Hawk

Ik uhde roop di
Dhup tikheri,
Dooja mahikaaN da tirhaaiya,
Teeja uhda raNg gulaabi
Kise gori ma da jaaiya.
Ni maeN vaari jaaN!

Naeni uhde
Chet di aathan,
Ate zulfeeN saavan CHaaya.
HoTHaaN de vich kahte da
Koi dihooN chaRne te aaiya.
Ni maeN vaari jaaN!

SaahvaaN de vich
Phul soiyaaN de
Kise baag chanan da laaiya.
Dehi deh vich kheDe chetar,
ItraaN naal nuhaaiya.
Ni maeN vaari jaaN!

BolaaN de vich
Paun pure di,
Ni o koyilaaN da hamsaaya.
ChiTe daNd jyuN dhaano bagala,
TauRi maar uDaaiya.
Ni maeN vaari jaaN!

Ishke da
Ik palaNgh nuwaari
AsaaN chaananiyaaN vich Daahiya.
Tan di chaadar ho gayi maeli
Us paer ja palaNghe paaiya.
Ni maeN vaari jaaN!

Dukhan mere
NaenaaN de koye,
Vich haR haNjhuaaN da aaiya.
Saari raat gayi vich sochaaN
Us e ki zulam kamaaiya.
Ni maeN vaari jaaN!

Subaah savere
Lae ni vaTana
AsaaN mal mal us nuhaaiya.
Dehi vichoN niklan chingaaN
Te saaDa hath giya kumhalaaiya.
Ni maeN vaari jaaN!

Choori kuTaaN
Te o khaaNda naaheeN
Uhnu dil da maas khavaaiya.
Ik uDaari aesi maari
O muR vatani na aaiya.
Ni maeN vaari jaaN!

Maae! Ni maae!
MaeN ik shikra yaar banaaiya.
Uhde sir te kalgi
Te uhde paereeN jhaaNjhar,
Te o chog chugeeNda aaiya.
Ni maeN vaari jaaN!

This Song is sung by Jagjit Singh as he recorded the Punjabi “Birha Da Sultan”, poems of Shiv Kumar Batalvi. Jagjit’s interpretation and mellifluous rendering of Batalvi’s sad verses haunted listeners for decades. A quarter of a century after the album was released, hit numbers like “Shikra” (where the beloved is compared to the falcon who won’t eat what is offered and “so, I fed it the flesh of my heart”) are requested at Jagjit’s live concerts. Recently he recorded this song in Sydney Opera House Concert; audience happened to ask for Encore!!!

I started learning his poetry more than 10 years back, his ideas of thoughts are still fresh and relevent to modern societies. His poetry reflects ideas from the common situations like a child is playing in the street, to something about life after death and also existence of once in the life.

I am putting my ideas and good collection of poetry of Ghalib on these rare pages, i hope you will enjoy them and can put your comments also.

Mirza Asadullah Baig Khan (Urdu/Persian: مرزا اسد اللہ خان ), pen-name Ghalib (Urdu/Persian: غالب, ġhālib) and Asad (former pen-name)(27 December 1796 — 15 February 1869), was an all time great classical Urdu and Persian poet of the subcontinent. Most notably, he wrote several ghazals during his life, which have since been interpreted and sung in many different ways by different people. He is considered to be the most dominating poet of the Urdu language.

Yeh na thee hamari qismat..
Yeh na thee hamari qismat keh wisaal-e-yaar hotaAgar aur jeete rahtay yehi intezaar hota
Tere waade par jiyee ham to yeh jaan jhoot janaKeh khushi se mar na jaate agar intezaar hota
Yeh kahaan ki dosti hai bane hain dost naasehKoi chaarasaaz hota koi ghamghuzar hota
Kahoon kis se main keh kya hai shab-e-gham buri balaa haiMujhe kya bura tha marana agar aikbaar hota
Huay mar keh ham jo ruswa huay kyun ka gharq-e-dariyaNa kabhi janaza uthata na kahin mazaar hota
Yeh masaael-e-tasavvuf yeh tera bayan ghalibTujhe ham wali samajhate Joh na badaakhwar hota.
T R A N S L A T I O N I N E N G L I S H
It was never in my fate to meet my beloved.Even if more years of life was to me allocated, I would have been still awaiting the prize cherished.
If you think that I had been living on your promise, it is a lie.For, if I had faith in you, would not of joy I would die.
Woe betide, my friendship, that the friends give pious advice and sermons they deliver.I need someone on whose shoulders could I weep, who could allay my grief and my fears.
Whom should I tell that the night of sorrow is full of pangs.I would not have resented the death, if it comes only once.
Disgraced, as I was after my death, why didn’t I drown in a river or sea.Neither, there would have been a funeral, nor tomb erected for me.
The marvels of ethical problems and your statements full of meanings.I would have counted you, “Ghalib” amongst dearest friends of God; if only, you had not been a lover of drinks.

As the poet Gulzar says, the more you read Kabir, the more clear your vision becomes towards the life. He sang Dohe, which means two lines couplet. Also many Sakhi which are love songs for divine powers. He never did any religious speech, but always mentioned daily life examples to love one’s Guru. His teaching helps to deal daily time to time situations. Think wise, and respect one’s education.

A weaver by profession, Kabir ranks among the world’s greatest poets. Back home in India, he is perhaps the most quoted author. The Holy Guru Granth Sahib contains over 500 verses by Kabir. The Sikh community in particular and others who follow the Holy Granth, hold Kabir in the same reverence as the other ten Gurus.

Bada Hua To Kya Hua, Jaise Ped Khajoor
Panthi Ko Chaya Nahin, Phal Laage Atidoor

In vain is the eminence, just like a date tree
No shade for travelers, fruit is hard to reach

Chalti Chukki dekh kar deha kabira Roye,
Duyi paten ke beech sabut bacha na koye

Looking at the grinding stones, Kabir laments
In the duel of wheels, nothing stays intact.

Mystic Songs

Moko Kahan Dhundhere Bande
Mein To Tere Paas Mein
Na Teerath Mein, Na Moorat Mein
Na Ekant Niwas MeinNa Mandir Mein,
Na Masjid Mein Na Kabe Kailas Mein
Mein To Tere Paas Mein Bande
Mein To Tere Paas Mein
Na Mein Jap Mein,
Na Mein Tap Mein Na Mein Barat Upaas Mein
Na Mein Kiriya Karm Mein Rehta Nahin Jog Sanyas Mein
Nahin Pran Mein Nahin Pind Mein
Na Brahmand Akas Mein
Na Mein Prakuti Prawar Gufa Mein
Nahin Swasan Ki Swans Mein
Khoji Hoye Turat Mil Jaoon Ik Pal Ki Talas Mein
Kahet Kabir Suno Bhai Sadho Mein To Hun Viswas Mein

French Translation
Où me cherches tu? Je suis avec toi Je ne suis pas dans les pèlerinages, ni dans les icônes, Ni dans l’isolement, Ni dans les temples, ni dans les mosquées, Ni a la Kaaba, ni au mont Kailash, Je suis avec toi, ô mon serviteur Je suis avec toi Pas dans les prières, ni la méditation, Ni dans le jeûne, Ni dans les renoncements yogiques, Ni dans la force vitale, ni dans le corps, Ni même dans l’éther Ni dans le sein de la nature, Ni dans le souffle des souffles. Cherche ardemment, et découvre, En un seul moment de recherche. Kabir dit, écoute avec attention, Où est ta foi, c’est là que je me trouve.
French Translation by Gilles Rey

Where do you search me?I am with youNot in pilgrimage, nor in iconsNeither in solitudesNot in temples, nor in mosquesNeither in Kaba nor in KailashI am with you o manI am with youNot in prayers, nor in meditationNeither in fastingNot in yogic exercisesNeither in renunciationNeither in the vital force nor in the body Not even in the ethereal space Neither in the womb of Nature Not in the breath of the breathSeek earnestly and discoverIn but a moment of searchSays Kabir, Listen with careWhere your faith is, I am there.

Gagan Ki Ot Nisana Hai Bhai

Dahine Sur Chandrama Banye
Tin Ke Beech Chipana Hai Bhai

Tan Ki Kaman Surat Ka Raunda

Shabad Baan Le Taana Hai Bhai
Maarat Baan Bidha Tan Hi Tan
Satguru Ka Parwana Hai Bhai
Maaryo Baan Ghav Nahin Tan Me

Jin Laaga Tin Jaana Hai Bhai
Kahe Kabir Suno Bhai Sadho

Jin Jaana Tin Maana Hai Bhai

Concealed Beyond the Sky is the Target

On the Right is the Sun, Moon is on the Left
Bisecting them it has to be Hidden
Body is the Bow, Visualization is the Roll of String
Unstruck Sound is the Arrow – Erect and Ready to Take Off
The Arrow is Released Leaving the Body-Instrument Behind

It’s the Messenger of the True-Guru

Despite Shooting the Arrow there is no Injury Mark on the Body

Only those who are Struck Experience it
Says Kabir Listen Oh Practicing Aspirant

Those who Experience Know it