In Nanak's house, there’s no holding hands,
I alone fold them,
The whole world is on one side, Him and I on another,
Stranded on this shore of love,
His mercy like vapour in the wind, settles within, unsettling me,
pulling me in
As the eyes weep of joy; joy they can’t contain,
Joy that has no parallel,
Joy, that’s complete,
Joy that can’t be shared, given or exchanged,
Unless, it’s His will that I drink from the well,
The clear, merciful water lapping against His formless form.
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| The Song of the Sufi Masroof |
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