Tukaram, Poem 344

What an anxiety is there in clinging to the world? Tell me, O Hari! All the world is perishable; O you who stand fast, you have left the world far behind; when first I dwelt in the womb, how can I tell the pangs I endured; nine months I suffered, then I was born; my childhood passed in ignorance; in my youth I was harassed by lust; with old age arrived care; I must die; then I must be born again. I have no rest for a moment, ever speeding through the eighty-four lakhs of re-birth. Greedy passions run after me, and throng about me. Cursed be the name of my selfishness! Enough of these encumbrances now; I will be a poor man to dwell at Thy door, I will be Thy lowly servant. Tuka says, Be merciful to me now!