Poem LXVIII

III. 102. ham se rahâ na jây

I hear the melody of His flute, and I cannot contain myself:
The flower blooms, though it is not spring; and already the bee
  has received its invitation.
The sky roars and the lightning flashes, the waves arise in my
  heart,
The rain falls; and my heart longs for my Lord.
Where the rhythm of the world rises and falls, thither my heart
  has reached:
There the hidden banners are fluttering in the air.
Kabîr says: "My heart is dying, though it lives."