Many hoped
but no one found
Hari's heart.
Where do the senses rest?
Where do the Ram-chanters go?
Where do the bright ones go?
Corpses: all gone
to the same place.
Drunk on the juice
of Ram's bliss,
Kabir says,
I've said and I've said,
I'm tired of saying.
Many Hoped
Kabir
(1)
Poem topics: heart, place, bright, juice, tired, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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