Like unto containing the cardinal directions East and West
In a tiny quartine measure is this body,
Into which is shrunk the elements five.
Nine the orifices it hath.
A walking habitat it is.
Bound with odorous white tendons, bones and flesh,
It is verily a mini car for the God of Love
To hold his festive procession.
It is a fleshy squirt
That ejects liquids diverse -
White, red, tears, urine and puss -
A bag of foul smelling fumes.
A burning ground
Where fourisheth the tree of desire
That shoots with renewed life
Everytime it is cut.
The gross matter unreal in the end
That appears so real.
When am I to realize it as ephemeral
And stand as spirit eternal?
Oh! Thou Sivam
That is Truth-Knowledge-Bliss!
The Cosmic Principle
That is Total-Fullness-Perfect!