A ball of love You are
Radiating Yourself everywhere
Come to me mother!
And spread Your love and care
Come. Sit on this chair
I will wash Your feet
Come. Show me Your face
I will feed You a treat
Of lentils, rice and peas
And some sweets and pies
Cooked in my heart’s kitchen
Made of love and cries
I know You have no favorites
Nothing good or bad
In Your blissful dictionary,
Dualities are at rest
You look at me so lovingly
As I feed You my khichdi
My sinful hands are not yet
Conscious of their theft
But You hold my hands lovingly
And savor my khichdi:
Oh! That poorly cooked khichdi
You eat till You are full
Forgive my ignorance, mother
I’m not aware of any cook rule
No! Don’t look at me that way; else
My existence will seep right now
through this fragile body; to reach You
And when my name would be called
I would be found nowhere
I would be searched and searched
Day and night; night and day
But I would be found nowhere