I am unable to find the beginning of the path,
and I do not know the end either.

Thinking of You,
I do not fathom an end,
and neither am I able to comprehend any limits.

O embodiment of consciousness,
Parama Purusa,
never ever can anyone describe You.

Attempts at searching arise,
and then return due to shyness,
unable to find idea and language of the unknown.

Your lane lies carpeted with bakula flowers,
and has been wetted with dewdrops.
You have compassionately left behind,
a memory soothing to the eyes.