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Rana, to me your slander is sweet.
Some praise me, some blame me. I
go the other way.
On the narrow path, I found God’s
people. What should I turn back for?
I am learning wisdom among the
wise, and the wicked look at me
with malice.
Mira’s Lord is Giridhar Nagar.
Let the wicked burn in the kitchen fire.
Mira’s God is the lifter of mountains.
I don’t like your strange world, Rana,
A world where there are no holy men,
and all the people are trash.
I have given up ornaments, given up
braiding my hair.
I have given up putting on kajal
(collyrium), and putting my hair up.
Mira’s Lord is Giridhar Nagar; I have
found a perfect bridegroom.
Mirabai
Read poems about / on: hair, people, fire, god, world
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