Poems Of India - II


The rich
will make temples for Śiva.
What shall I,
a poor man,
do?

My legs are pillars,
the body the shrine,
the head a cupola
of gold.

Listen, O lord of the meeting rivers,
things standing shall fall,
but the moving ever shall stay.

-- BASAVAŅŅA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

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