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Is this my mind’s illusion or reality? Even without the moon in the sky, her eyes seem to hold galaxies—a mesmerizing marvel.
Her innocent, tear-filled glances dazzle the heart with joy and shame, like flowers showering nectar, swaying gently in the wind.
The ocean, seemingly lifeless, gave birth to the radiant Moon. What a marvel, that he rests fearlessly even in the tangled matted locks of Shiva!
From cremation grounds, relatives return—but you alone journey onward. Thus, do good karma now, for none will accompany you in the end.
The dried and withered flowers lament the absence of fruit. The tree, its roots exposed, waits silently for rain—a stark image of barren hope.
The sage, who moves from one hermitage to another, performs fire rituals, conquers the senses, and begs alms—such a life grants eternal merit.
Be he a sage, renunciate, or scholar—none are exempt from royal justice. All are subject to the law, however noble their status.
When disputes arise among learned Brahmins in their hermitages, the king must not intervene directly, but act with subtle wisdom and self-benefit.
A tree on the righteous path must be watered with timely rains. Its distance or smallness should never make us neglect its care.
The clouds that pour rain on all equally become the shelter for birds and beings alike—true shelter provides for all with fairness.
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