A Country Fair for Those Mad With Love

Drive me out of my mind, O Mother! 

What use is esoteric knowledge

          Or philosophical knowledge

Transport me totally with the burning wine 

Of your all-embracing love.

Mother of mystery, who imbues with mystery

          The hearts of those who love you,

Immerse me irretrievably

In the stormy ocean without boundary,

Pure love, pure love, pure love.                  

Wherever your lovers reside

          Appears like a madhouse

To common perception.

Some are laughing with your freedom,

Others weep tears of your tenderness,

Still others dance, whirling with your bliss.

Even your devoted Gautama, Moses,

Krishna, Jesus, Nanak and Muhammad

          Are lost in the rapture of pure love. 

This poet stammers,

Overcome with longing:

“When? When? When?

When will I be granted companionship

          With her intense lovers?”

Their holy company is heavenly

A country fair for those mad with love

Where every distinction

Between master and disciple disappears 

Their love of love sings:

“Mother! Mother! Mother!

Who can fathom your mystery,

          Your eternal play of love with love?

You are divine madness, O goddess,

Your love the brilliant crown of madness,

Please make this poor poet madly wealthy

          With the infinite treasure of your love

      -Ramprasad Sen