DAILY PHOTO: Perching Cardinal
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crow on a post,
on rocky desolate ground;
waves lap ashore.

a bird in a bush:
does it know it’s worth
half a bird in hand?

a little bird,
on a bit of driftwood,
speeds downriver
in the dusky, fading light.
doesn’t it know it can fly?

a night heron,
up & about at sunrise,
like diehard revellers.

home to birds & squirrels,
the tree holds life in every
crotch & hollow.

On this tree is a bird:
It dances in the joy of life.
No one knows where it is:
And who knows what the burden
Of its music may be?
Where the branches throw a deep shade,
There does it have its nest:
And it comes in the evening
And flies away in the morning,
And says not a word
Of that which it means.
None tell me of this bird
That sings within me.
It is neither coloured nor colourless:
It has neither form nor outline:
It sits in the shadow of love.
It dwells within the Unattainable,
The Infinite, and the Eternal;
And no one marks
When it comes and goes.
Kabir says, “O brother Sadhu!
Deep is the mystery.
Let wise men seek to know
where rests that bird.”
NOTE: This is the translation by Rabindranath Tagore from the 1915 text, One Hundred Poems of Kabir. This is poem #30 (XXX) of that volume.