Tukaram, Poem 1776

O merciful one, Thou hast no sense of difference from me; tell me now fond tales to delight me. Thou wilt follow me with sweet morsels; Thou wilt put the nectar of Brahma to my lips. Thou wilt take me under the shelter of Thy wings; for our sake, O Govinda, says Tuka, Thou carriest the mace and the wheel.