ਭਰਿ ਜੋਬਨਿ ਮਰਿ ਜਾਹਿ ਕਿ ਕੀਜੈ ॥
bhar joban mar jaahi ke keejai.
What can they do, if he dies in his youth?
ਮੇਰਾ ਮੇਰਾ ਕਰਿ ਰੋਵੀਜੈ ॥
mayraa mayraa kar roveejai.
They cry out, "His is mine, he is mine!"
ਮਾਇਆ ਕਾਰਣਿ ਰੋਇ ਵਿਗੂਚਹਿ ਧ੍ਰਿਗੁ ਜੀਵਣੁ ਸੰਸਾਰਾ ਹੇ ॥੮॥
maa-i-aa kaaran ro-ay vigoocheh Dharig jeevan sansaaraa hay. ||8||
They cry for the sake of Maya, and are ruined; their lives in this world are cursed. ||8||
Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa
Sometimes a life is brief, and those left behind ache and say, over and over, how much they loved that person.
The sharpest part of the ache comes from holding on so tightly to what was never only ours to keep.
When we can love and also trust the One to hold what we cannot, the heart finds a gentler kind of rest.
Loving with open hands hurts less than loving with a tight grip.
Mayraa mayraa — mine, mine. Clinging sharpens grief, and trust softens it. Love stays; the tight grip is what hurts.
A Question to Sit With
What is something you love that you can hold a little more gently?
Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa·How we use AI
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