Tukaram, Poem 6

This is not my own country or garb; by
chance I have wandered here. What can I
claim as mine? Where have I found a resting
place? Though I call my feet and my hands my
own, how bereft I am of them! I am a friendless
stranger, blind and lame. O Lord, regard and
relieve me; I have neither brother nor child, I
commit myself to the saints. I tremble as I follow
the path before me, whereon many have travelled
and none returned. I cannot see what happens
though my ears perceive a sound. I sit at the
cross roads, holding Thee fast in my thoughts. I
cry out for mercy like one that has lost his way.
My belly is never filled; my feet are never at rest.
I am weary with wandering through the eight
million villages. I cling to this inhabited spot;
what can I trust to? Who will bring me an unexpected alms? Oft have I heard its praises sung
in such a strain that now I cry, O meritorious
Lord, be my friend! I am very hungry, but thou
givest freely. Any merits I had, I resign. Wealth,
family, son, mother, all these ties I have cast off.
God, I have renounced desire, for so it was
decreed I should do. Tuka says, You are now my
all-powerful protector.