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Poem L

I. 126. muralî bajat akhand sadâye

The flute of the Infinite is played without ceasing, and its
  sound is love:
When love renounces all limits, it reaches truth.
How widely the fragrance spreads! It has no end, nothing stands
  in its way.
The form of this melody is bright like a million suns:
  incomparably sounds the vina, the vina of the notes of truth.