When the wheels of time move and the birth-death cycle ceases
Piercing through perishables Atman gains permanency.
Dharma (righteousness), Artha (values), and Kama (eases)
Lead to mirthful Moksha (liberation) marvellously.
The thought of attaining this Moksha in me is endless.
Its thirst is like the thirst of a nomad in the desert.
Goes on for days and months; physique and psyche grow restless.
The feeling my soul undergoes pleasantly does hurt.
Like the owl of Athens, the phoenix, and the Sankofa
The wisely existence of the present and the future
The heavenly world, the surface world, and the underworld
Each spider-web-like realm is spun as though by a suture.
Fountains, streams, and rivers flow on till they reach the oceans.
Oceans, beyond all notions, withstand cosmic commotions.
Her tongue is made of sulfur
Mud drowns the fields
Fine sand billows over deserts
Soil sprinkled over graves
Blood and sweat for charcoal
Swallowed tears, for potter’s clay
Niter, mortar, a vessel
To give birth, and to slay