I pray every day for my freedom, like a prisoner,
I cry every night for my union, like a lover,
Do not mistaken me for how I look,
I am one but what you see is another,
A shooting star or a dying candle,
Brighten a little at its end,
But the grief in me the deepest,
And the 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