Poem XCIX

II. 111. Nârad, pyâr so antar nâhî

Oh Narad! I know that my Lover cannot be far:
When my Lover wakes, I wake; when He sleeps, I sleep.
He is destroyed at the root who gives pain to my Beloved.
Where they sing His praise, there I live;
When He moves, I walk before Him: my heart yearns for my Beloved.
The infinite pilgrimage lies at His feet, a million devotees are
  seated there.
Kabîr says: "The Lover Himself reveals the glory of true love."