VI
On the potter’s wheel are shaped pots
From pot-mix made from earth and water
You shape empty pots from Pancha Bhoota
And play blowing in and blowing out life
VII
I am the shadow of relentless pains
You are the pain of my ceaseless pains
Teach my soul how to survive pains
Paining is thy jest prior to granting gains
VIII
Chasing after the mirage I came deep into the desert
I am lost between the scorching sun and the blistering sand
Thirst is flaming up, no oasis appears in the vicinity around
It’s folly to dig well in the desert, yet I am set on it
IX
I have been flying hard up and up in the sky with a wish
To meet you in your splendid palace in heaven’s gardens
My weak wings are on fire, no more they can take me up
A heavy rain is set to shower, I am sure, to put out the fire
X
I went in vain in search of a friend who can feel my pain
A pilgrimage into the holy shrines of soul and veins
I could hear you laugh from your hiding at my strains
I realise, a true friend is you yourself in disguise
Leave a Reply