O Lord, Maya has subdued my mind.
Its good and ill it understands not, but as a moth yields up the body.

The home is a lamp, the mind is oil, the wife the wick, the son a flame that burns up all.
I in my folly knew not the secret but ran to fall a prey to it.

Many a day has passed in the world and still the foolish wanders astray.
O Sur, if one but meditated on Syam Sundar, how could one's state become thus wretched?