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A king will favor even the unworthy if they dwell nearby—just as creepers, women, and vines wrap only around what is closest.
O suitor! You are near her youthful bloom, but already it is fading. Like flowers, a woman’s youth vanishes suddenly.
Serving a king is like playing with fire, weapons, and wild beasts—only supreme skill can make one survive.
Trees near thorns, enemies near rulers, and even milk-giving ones with dangerous fruit—should be avoided despite appearances.
Cravings show us pleasures, then drag us away like goats lured by a fistful of grass—desire deludes.
Fire retreats as rain nears, lightning appears, trees doubt drowning, but the wise know: only when fear is gone does joy fully bloom.
Clinging to a bright flowered vine, your trembling hand rests on my waist—your tearful eyes suggest a love daily remembered.
To one near and far, visible and hidden, easy and difficult—my salutations to Śambhu, the lord of paradox.
When karma is close, fruit is close; when distant, fruit is too. Mixed seeds yield mixed fruits—thus wise know the law of timing.
Sweet fruit is near, decay is nearer—one moment trees wilt, the next they bloom again. The world is an unpredictable cycle.
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