Poem 15

#listen-container { display: inline-block; padding: 9px 15px; background: #10578E; cursor: pointer; transition: all 0.3s ease; border: 1px solid #1791ef; border-bottom: 1px solid #156caf; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; } #listen-container:hover { background: #2f9cf1; } #listen-container a { color: #fff; } .listen-container-svg { fill: #fff; height: 20px; width: 22px; margin-right: 5px; } #text-player { margin-right: 0; display: inline-block; font-size: 16px; top: -3px; position: relative; float: none; font-family: "Roboto","sans-serif"; font-size: 12px; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 0.1em; } Listen to this Poem Your browser does not support the audio element. LAMPS burn in every house, O blind one! and you cannot see them. One day your eyes shall suddenly be opened, and you shall see: and the fetters of death will fall from you. There is nothing to say or to hear, there is nothing to do: it is he who is living, yet dead, who shall never die again. Because he lives in solitude, therefore the Yogi says that his home is far away. Your Lord is near: yet you are climbing the palm-tree to seek Him. The Brahman priest goes from house to house and initiates people into faith: Alas! the true fountain of life is beside you, and you have set up a stone to worship. Kabîr says: "I may never express how sweet my Lord is. Yoga and the telling of beads, virtue and vice--these are naught to Him."