Look at this cosmos—
watermark on cotton paper, swan-king;
nectar-vessel of syllables, verses, prayer-beads
ever-unfolding form, flavor, fragrance and touch
in a hundred shapes. I honor the birthing-plea of truth's vow,
tempestuous righteousness. Manu dwells in the city, human beings
go to the forest to be seen. Who understands
the principle, the genesis, the aesthetic way?
Where is Aruni? The teacher remains to be studied still.
Lost in my own shadow, absorbed in self-delight,
grant me conscious harmony.