THOU HAST made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and finest it ever with fresh life.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.

– Rabindranath Tagore, Gitanjali (An offering of songs)




Always to me beloved was this lonely hillside

And the hedgerow creeping over and always hiding

The distances, the horizon’s furthest reaches.

But as I sit and gaze, there is an endless

Space still beyond, there is a more than mortal

Silence spread out to the last depth of peace,

Which in my thought I shape until my heart

Scarcely can hide a fear. And as the wind

Comes through the copses sighing to my ears,

The infinite silence and the passing voice

I must compare: remembering the seasons,

Quiet in dead eternity, and the present,

Living and sounding still. And into this

Immensity my thought sinks ever drowning,

And it is sweet to shipwreck in such a sea.

– Leopardi, translated by Henry Reed




When my mind was cleansed of impurities,

like a mirror of its dust and dirt,

I recognized the Self in me:

When I saw Him dwelling in me,

I realized that He was the Everything

and I was nothing.

I saw and found I am in everything

I saw God effulgent in everything.

After hearing and pausing see Siva

The House is His alone; Who am I, Lalla.

– Lalleshwari, a Kashmiri saint and poet. (Translated by B.N. Parimoo)