Songs of Kabir

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.

What hours, O what black hours we have spent

This night!

—Gerard Manley Hopkins

Lying beside you,

I'm waiting to be kissed.

But your face is turned

And you're fast asleep.

Though a buzz saw on my neck

Would sound sweeter than your snoring,

I'll put my arms around you

And whisper in your ear:

I have one husband: you.

You have one wife: me.

Who's there to come between us?

Beware, says Kabir,

Of the man you love.

He can be a tricky customer.

Separate us?

Pierce a diamond first.

We're lotus

And water,

Servant

And master.

My love for you

Is no secret.

I'm the grub

To your ichneumon fly,

The river

To your sea,

The borax

To your gold,

Heightening its effect.

Tell me, wise one,

How did I become

A woman from a man?

I never got married,

Was never pregnant,

But gave birth to sons.

I fucked young men,

Too numerous to count,

And stayed a virgin.

In a Brahmin's house,

I become a Brahmin's wife;

In a yogi's, a lay yogini;

In a Turk's, I read the kalma

And do as Turkish women do;

And yet I'm always alone

Without a place to call home.

Listen, saints, Kabir says,

This is my body.

I don't let

My husband touch it

Or anyone else.

Excerpted from Songs of Kabir, translated

from Hindi by Arvind Krishna Mehrotra,

NYRB/ Hachette India-Black Kite 2011 (bilingual Everyman Classics' edition).