24. Translation

```

My bird of light in the blossomed heart

Wants to go where there is no grief,

No bereavement.

The world once mocked

At my excruciating pangs.

O Beloved of my heart,

Grant me the cord of love-nectar.

```

From:Sri Chinmoy,Patience-Groves, Agni Press, NY, 1978
Sourced from https://srichinmoylibrary.com/pgr