Please keep Your word.
Keep me ever absorbed in samadhi.

Thorns may be present.
Let them be.
They do not hurt the nightingale.

The small flea rushes forth when light comes.
Even after burning its wings,
it does not abandon its attraction to the flame.

Hence do not kindle Your lamp.
I shall oscillate on the swing in darkness.
Obtaining the dust of Your feet,
I do not require a grass blanket.

Silently at the grave,
I shall discard
my loosely hanging, unkempt hair.