This poem depicts the agony of the devotee separated from the Master or the Lord. He cherishes the heartache of separation and will not disclose it to anyone except the one who is the cause of his suffering. The gift of love and longing, Kabir points out, comes only through contact with Shabd or the divine melody that the Master gives. The devotee who has merged into the Shabd longs only to become one with the source of Shabd — the Lord.

To whom can I narrate
The tale of my woe,
Except to you, beloved Lord?
My heart is wounded —
The pain I suffer, O Lord,
Is beyond measure.

The sharp spear of longing
Has pierced my very being;
It smarts constantly,
Smarts day and night
Deep within my heart.

To whom can I narrate
The tale of my woe,
Except to you, beloved Lord?

Who else will understand
The torment I undergo?
My Master's Shabd
Like a pointed arrow
Has penetrated my heart,
And the pain has spread
Throughout my body and soul.

To whom can I narrate
The tale of my woe,
Except to you, beloved Lord?

There is no patient
Mortally ill like me,
And no physician
With your healing touch.
Are you unaware
That I cannot, for long,
Bear this pain of separation;
That one parted from you
Cannot bear to stay alive?

To whom can I narrate
The tale of my woe,
Except to you, beloved Lord?

My nights and days pass
With thoughts fixed on you,
With my anxious eyes
Craving for your darshan.
Still, dear Lord,
You are not moved
To come and meet the one
Who, pining for you,
Is on the verge of death?

Kabir's agony is beyond measure.
Without seeing you, beloved Lord,
How can life endure within him?
To whom can I narrate
The tale of my woe,
But to you,
Beloved?

K.G., p. 138:287
Tumha bin rām kavan saun kahiye