Of all that wear this flesh, are none found happy: all that thou seest are wretched

Of all that wear this flesh, are none found happy: all that thou seest are wretched.
Rulers and ruled, the poor, the rich: the lowest of the low, the headman of the village.

In greater or in less degree the whole world is in grief: the house-holder and the hermit alike.
Happy in this world is no father of sons: happy no lonely recluse.

The Jogi is troubled, the Jangam is troubled: to him who seeks out penances is two-fold trouble.
The thirst of desire springs up in all: there is no palace but contains it.

I speak truth, yet no one heeds: lies I may not utter.
Brahma, Visnu, Mahesa are troubled, who have traced out this path.

The solitary is troubled, the king is troubled: the poor is troubled for his crippled lot.
Kabír says, Hear, O brother Sàdhus, that man wins happiness who o'ercomes his mind.
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Kabir
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