Like a prisoner I pray every day for my freedom,
Like a lover I cry every night for my union,
Do not mistaken me,
I am one and what you see is another,
As a shooting star or a dying candle,
I may brighten a little at my end,
But there is grief in me the deepest,
There is thirst in me the driest,
No worldly herb ever could heal,
No worldly wine ever could quench,
Other than dying in His love every day,
Other than longing His love every way.
~Sw. Chidananda Tirtha