My body cannot stand
Even water that is hot.
When I run a thorn
I draw it out with a sudden pull
And, my eyelids closing,
I seek the mercy of Thy Grace.
When someone says something unpleasant
Alas, my countenance changing color,
I stand drooping in spirit.
Lord, Thou in Thy Grace knoweth this!
In sum, I am one given to much fear.
Lord, give me not up!
At any moment of time
That cannot be predicted,
This body that had been incarnated
Is a burden to be discharged in death.
It is a law that takes
Its inexorable toll anywhere.
Yet, I believe
That for devotees like Sukhar
And others of ancient tradition
Divine Grace is the refuge alloteed to mortals.
Oh! Thou, the Ocean of Bliss
That is Cosmic Light!
The Pervasive God
That is Attributeless Pure!