Bazi alis Subrata Ray
O Lord touch us with your Divine Touchstone,
Free us from mind’s disease, and morbid moan,
While in Naught’s garden we seek illusion’s fruits,
Pray you to convert our evils into hood,
Be kind enough to spoil our coveted happiness,
Curse that may appear, but that’s the ultimate bliss.
Bazi alis Subrata Ray's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.