Classic Poem

The middle region of the sky,
wherein the spirit dwelleth,
is radiant with the music of light;

There, where the pure and white music blossoms,
my Lord takes His delight.

In the wondrous effulgence of each hair of His body, t
he brightness of millions of suns and of moons is lost.

On that shore there is a city,
where the rain of nectar pours and pours,
and never ceases.
Kabîr says: 'Come, O Dharmadas!
and see my great Lord's Durbar.'