Tukaram, Poem 2396

You watch the bodies of your fellow-men burned; how is it the sight does not awake you? Cry out on God with dread and vehemence, if you are not already as dead men. Death is a package we must all carry; while you have life, fill up the measure of your merit. Tuka says, There is a dense crowd of traffic on the road; when it reaches you, it will not let you stir.