Tukaram, Poem 2099

This nectar of divine discourse is my very life. At one table we shall eat a meal of many delicacies; their odour and flavour will be sweet every moment. When we are satisfied we shall belch for joy; the delight of love will overflow in our voices. The harvest of divine union is ripe, the shoots are fully formed; the sky cannot hold the heap of grain; though we measure it we cannot exhaust it; there is no use trying to keep count of it, says Tuka.