Tukaram, Poem 1696

Let my body be filled with Thy form; the image in a mirror is one with its original and other than it. Bliss is laid up in store for me, my own ascendancy is passing away moment by moment. These four troublesome corners, the four paths of liberation, have disappeared. The pupil of the eye may be left untouched though jaundice discolours the eyeball; through the virtue of this black unguent, I shall slip back no more. When the soul of all has left its stamp on our soul, we may go where we will; it is merely the difference of names that caused the path to divide; that is all over, says Tuka.