Posted by Art Of Legend India [dot] Com On 3:57 AM
Without the Dear One, my home is
Does there dwell some one who would take
me to my Lord?
On such a one, my body and soul I
For His sake, I ‘wander from forest to
Adopting the Yogi's dress.
The date of meeting is past, even today
you are not come.
The very hairs on my head are grown grey.
Mira’s Lord, when will ‘He’ meet her,
Now that the town of the king she has
Pray, some one, convey to Him, my
message to come.
The glad tidings to come, the happy news
Neither comes He nor sendeth any news.
He hath acquired the habit to torment me.
Alack, howsoever I plead, these eyes came
not for my reproach.
Flow they as the streams in the rains.
What can I do, it is beyond me.
The wings I do not possess, wherewith to
fly o'er to Him.
Prays Mira, when will you meet her?
Fallen a victim is she to Thy snares.
Writer – Bankey Behari