Lord, You make sport with me

(3346) Tumi phuleri buke madhu dhalile

From the floral bosom nectar You did cascade;
To blossom with thorns the rose You made.
In winter through fire comfort You gave;
In summer You applied the sandal paste.

You go on doing work as You like;
Sometimes You make cry, elsewise You make smile.
Sometimes with affection You drag nigh;
Sometimes though craved, You did not gaze.

Like heat of the fire You've remained in hiding;
Upon sky You have soared like the water's steam.
You have gone on dancing with the peacock of psyche,
A game of light-and-shade having played.

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