The leather bag holding rice,
Around which hover
Crows, cultures, ghouls, dogs and jackals;
The dance hall of the God of Love
That is raised on pillars two and gates nine;
The box that holds passion's rolls;
The ditch that overflows with triple impurities;
The slime infested with hordes of vile worms;
The storehouse of rotten goods smelling foul;
The mudpot that is transient unto the lightning flash
Which the Potter that chanted the Vedas fashioned,
And the ruffian, Death, breaks to pieces;
Am I to hold this total lie as truth
And droop low in this world?
Oh! Thou the Brahman that is unknowable!
The One that is Purity Perfection!
The Spaces Vast where dawns
The Knowledge that is Bliss!