Consumed with grief I am, I get relief in no way; O circumambient waters of the Ganges drown me.
Our land foments excessive mutual enmity. What unity! Our closeness harbours separation.
Enmity instead of sincerity is outrageous; enmity among the same barn’s grains is outrageous.
If the brotherly breeze has not entered in a garden; no pleasure can be derived from songs in that garden.
Though I exceedingly love the real closeness; I am upset by the mixing of waves and the shore.
The miraculous poet is like the grain from the barn; the grain has no existence if there is no barn.
How can beauty unveil itself if no one is anxious for sight; lighting of the candle is meaningless if there is no assembly.
Why does the taste for speech not change to silence? Why does this brilliance not appear out from my mirror?
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