The night you passed in sleep
And the day in visiting your false friends;
Alas! Thus have you wasted The diamond of your life on naught.
You will die one day, perhaps tomorrow;
Grass will grow on your tomb,
And your friends will forget you.
Therefore know your soul soon.
Whom will the son of a harlot call his father?
Worship God in your being And do not waste your life.
Your body is like a jar of unbaked clay;
It may break to pieces any moment And all will be over,
Nowhere is there delight except in God.
This world is a house made of wood,
And, lo! it is burning furiously;
He who stays in it dies.
The Yogi withdraws from it in meditation And he is saved.
Thy birth as man is a ripe fruit Which is seen only once;
Make the most of the practice of devotion and compassion
And the acquisition of true Knowledge.
O Kabir, there is a way out of this illusory world:
Know the soul at any cost.
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