Came You, the Formless, on stream in form's circumference;
Hari, my most Beloved, You remove the dark.
With Generation, Operation, and Destruction at fixed residence,
Hey the Bliss-Player, You make liila.
When You entered into form, the form-free Godhead,
Which was that time of yore with a light fest?
Vitality, by which elixir did You spread;
And how many diadems were retracted from a Kamsa?
Never does it happen, Your coming and going;
Master, You are not obstructed by an erstwhile territory.
Nonetheless, the foolish mind invites Yourself near,
Even though You are intralocomotional.
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We chase what we crave, and yet we own that which we chase.
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