Tukaram, Poem 2780

A dense crowd of Hari’s worshippers is assembled; there is no room to enter even the skirts of it. What can I do there? Who will listen to what I say? How can I rebuke you for this, when I too call myself your worshipper? I know not how to clap the cymbals nor to dance in time. They are decked with splendid ornaments, my body is in wretched plight. Tuka says, O consort of Kamala, do not make me subject to these men!