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The curious child slaps the soft belly out of fun, admiring the gold-like waist folds—play meets poetic observation.
Even the ocean or moon can’t be digested like desire—if Shiva himself couldn’t resist Kāma, who else can claim detachment?
The stomach is an abyss into which everything disappears, and a wicked serpent within cries endlessly—an allegory on hunger.
Due to fear of feeding two stomachs, a man only half-marries—thus, how is his son still a boy today? A social satire.
The world’s burdens lie in your belly, O boar! You even made dung tasty—no one else could handle such divine digestion.
If the stomach is small, why such sloth and selfishness? Why no zeal in doing good? A philosophical question on lethargy.
The swan, though like the heron in color, eats pearls—not fish. Likewise, the noble don’t act for mere survival.
Those desiring future glory never gaze at other’s wives, just like a crescent moon barely visible—hidden, untouched.
She, once angered, now humbly surrenders her face to him with modest downcast eyes—like a queen bowing to her rival.
You lived like a jackal though born royal—what a pity! Had you tried, you’d have reached the might of a lion.
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