Classic Poem

None can trust life's breath, O Sadhu: bethink you of departing now.
With her dead husband burns the Sati: this is all illusion's error.
On his back a load of raisins, yet the camel eats Babul.
Palace, temple, park and gardens, yet no root or branch survives.
The living Purusa is changeless immortal, bodiless and without frame.
Before my eyes to do obeisance come like flowers priceless gems.
Here, Garib Das, thought soars as Alal, rocked in meditation's swing.