Lovers of Truth have gathered
Around the tender flames of Satsang
Ready to disclose their hearts
For what they truly hold.
Lifted on the wings of Grace,
A panoramic view unfolds:
A heart is not a storage cavity,
Where memories receive a ruling,
Or things get locked in chains,
Neither a chapel of worship
And spurious faith.
Affection is not seated here,
It is hollow of any scratches,
Wounds or grimaces,
The emulations of past, of future
Are stalled,
Those pertain to Psyche's repertoire.
Instead, this territory is a wholesome vacuum,
A Oneness of all stars,
The immortal Lover is within smiling,
Heart is the Spirit,
A sanctuary of the Saint.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem