Tukaram, Poem 17

No pompous ornament becomes me not, it is false upon me. I am but dust upon Your feet, a sandal on the saints’ feet. I cannot recognize your primal form; I offer You faith, so far I can see you; I cannot see the perishable world merge into the imperishable; in my mind there dwells no distinction, of spiritual and non-spiritual and so forth. I am nothing at all, says Tuka, I will fall at Your feet, O listen to these words!