Classic Poem

To Thee my mind has clung: this living thing is naught.
Bound fast to mother, father, sons, yet none of these will bear it company.
Sidhs and Sadhs, Munis and Gandharvas, all were mingled with the dust.
Even Brahma, Visnu, Mahesa, all, beyond all counting.
Amongst these what is one poor man? Of what account is he?
Jagjivan makes this his prayer — may he abide beneath Thy shade.