A song I go on singing.
No wealth is mine, no strength of piety;
And thus I pray for mercy.
Throat You've given me, myself You gave ardor;
You've given a life full of honeyed impulse.
I proclaim capitulation by a hundred means.
Just foot-dust am I, I'm Your molecule;
Seated in cognition's Gokul, You play on a bamboo flute.
That same sound of reed pipe, I hear at heart's core;
By pull of the Infinite, boundary I defeat.
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Let me be Your flute; I'll sing Your song.
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