The edge of the sari is burned,
The searing body is aflame,
Yet no fire consumes the soul—
The soul drenches in the Ashar rain.
Ashar’s rain thunders fiercely,
Lightning leaps in ecstatic chaos,
And in the mind, kadamba blossoms bloom.

In the wind, countless ashes whirl,
The wildfire spreads its fiery sparks.
A sculpted figure burns to coal,
Scarred, grotesque, and wounded deeply.
Yet the purified soul claims its triumph!
A holy dip in the Ganga washes all sins;
Thus, the mind showers with cascading waters!

In an abandoned, desolate home,
Can there ever be celebration?
Ghosts and spirits hold their council,
Weaving tales of eerie mysteries.
Like a wandering, displaced man,
The careless soul roams unmoored—
This body, an empty human home.