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So long as I’m armed, what fear of others’ weapons? What isn’t achieved by my weapon, who else can succeed?
One gives wealth when asked, the other gives life without asking—the renouncer is nobler than the miserly giver.
Wealth is straw for the generous, death for the brave, wife for the detached, and the world itself for the renunciate.
I see no generous ones except you, O Pārvatī—grant me the gem of Rāma-bhakti, even if unworthy. A plea to divine mother.
Clad in floral offerings and divine fragrance, may I worship the Lord with buzzing bees and sweet praise—immersed in devotion.
Meenakshi, though modest and composed, stirs even the minds of sages with her lotus face and shyly eloquent presence, quietly seated in poets’ hearts ...
Though Vishnu seems indifferent amidst chaos, how should the virtuous stand firm in a world overrun by evil? A lament for lost righteousness.
The wrath of the noble, like lightning in drought, is rare and destructive—it manifests only against the truly wicked.
Words spoken kindly by a lover are eagerly believed, but when made public, they lose their charm and invite judgment.
The moon rises, bringing tears to separated lovers and joy to Cupid, crowned by women’s delight—symbol of dual emotions.
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