To what shore would you cross, 
O my heart? 
there is no traveller before you, 
there is no road:
Where is the movement, 
where is the rest, 
on that shore? 
There is no water; no boat, no boatman, is there; 
There is not so much as a rope to tow the boat, nor a man to draw it.
No earth, no sky, no time, no thing, is there: no shore, no ford! 
There, there is neither body nor mind: 
and where is the place that shall still the thirst of the soul? 
You shall find naught in that emptiness.
Be strong, and enter into your own body: 
for there your foothold is firm. 
Consider it well, 
O my heart! 
go not elsewhere,
Kabîr says: 'Put all imaginations away, 
and stand fast in that which you are.'                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem