Father, mother, wife, children -
All these are but unto a crowd
In the market place -
Doubtless is this.
The gorgeous life with stately mansions,
Gem studded turrets, spacious pavillions
And the fourfold army -
All but an Indrajal show.
This body that is a pot filled with filth and worm
And a mind that deceitful, envious and miserly
Is but a disgusting dream.
Why is it this mind does not realize one day is unto another,
And search the state of solitariness
Where there is neither day nor night,
And so get immersed in Thy Waters of Grace
Totally forgetting the ''I-ness?''
Instead, why is it whirling in confusion intense?
Oh! Thou the Reality that eludes seeking!
The God of Knowledge that dwells in my thoughts!
Thou the Bliss Refulgent!
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