Torn In Shreds

Mine is Gopal,

the Mountain-Holder;

there is no one else.
On his head he wears the peacock-crown:

He alone is my husband.
Father, mother, brother, relative:

I have none to call my own.

I’ve forsaken both God,

and the family’s honor:

what should I do?

I’ve sat near the holy ones,

and I’ve lost shame before the people.
I’ve torn my scarf into shreds;

I’m all wrapped up in a blanket.
I took off my finery of pearls and coral,

 and strung a garland of wildwood flowers.

With my tears,

I watered the creeper of love that I planted;
Now the creeper has grown spread all over,

and borne the fruit of bliss.

The churner of the milk churned with great love.
When I took out the butter,

no need to drink any buttermilk.
I came for the sake of love-devotion;

seeing the world,

I wept.

Mira is the maidservant of the Mountain-Holder:

now with love He takes me across to the further shore.

– Mirabai



(Mirabai)      (Mirabai Poems)      (Indian Poets)