The plums tasted sweet to the unlettered desert-tribe girl- but what manners! To chew into each! She was ungainly, low-caste, ill mannered and dirty, but the god took the fruit she'd been sucking. Why? She'd knew how to love. She might not distinquish splendor from filth but she'd tasted the nectar of passion. Might not know any Veda, but a chariot swept her away- now she frolics in heaven, esctatically bound to her god. The Lord of Fallen Fools, says Mira,
I am mad with love And no one understands my plight. Only the wounded Understand the agonies of the wounded, When the fire rages in the heart. Only the jeweller knows the value of the jewel, Not the one who lets it go. In pain I wander from door to door, But could not find a doctor. Says Mira: Harken, my Master, Mira's pain will subside When Shyam comes as the doctor.
The Plums Tasted The plums tasted sweet to the unlettered desert-tribe girl- but what manners! To chew into each! She was ungainly, low-caste, ill mannered and dirty, but the god took the fruit she’d been sucking. Why? She knew how to love. She might not distinguish splendor from filth but she’d tasted the nectar of passion. Might not know any Veda, but a chariot swept her away- now she frolics in heaven, ecstatically bound to her god. The Lord of Fallen Fools, says Mira, will save…
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.
Only he knows the bitterness of love Who has deeply felt its pangs. When you are in trouble No one comes near you..... When fortune smiles. All come to share the joy. Love shows no external wound. But the pain pervades every pore... Devotee Mira offers her body As a sacrifice to Giridhara for ever. - Mirabai
I danced before my Giridhara I danced before my Giridhara. Again and again I dance To please that discerning critic, And put His former love to the test. I put on the anklets Of the love of Shyam, And behold! My Mohan stays true. Worldly shame and family custom I have cast to the winds. I do not forget the beauty of the Beloved Even for an instant. Mira is dyed deeply in the dye of Hari. - Mirabai