Tukaram, Poem 477

I enjoy no pleasure. I need no honour—this world passes—what shall I do? Luxuries set my flesh on fire; sweet food is poison to me. I dislike to hear my praises when men extol me; they weary my soul. Tell me how to reach Thee; let me not be swallowed up in the mirage of the world. Tuka says, Do good to me now, take me out of the flame where I burn.