“The clouds are fast gathering in the sky and making a terrible noise. Bereft as I am of my darling (S¶tŒ), my heart trembles to see all this. The lightning flashes fitfully amid the clouds, like the friendship of the wicked, which never endures. The pouring clouds cleave close to the ground even as the learned stoop beneath accumulated lore. The mountains endure the buffeting of showers even as a saint would put up with the taunts of the wicked. The swelling streamlets rush with great speed just as the wicked would feel elated even with a small fortune. The water becomes turbid the moment it descends on earth, even as the J¶va (an embodied soul) is enveloped in MŒyŒ as soon as born. The water coming from various directions gathers into a pool even as commendable virtues find their way into the heart of a noble soul. The water of the stream, becomes still once it pours into the ocean, just as the ego finds eternal rest on attaining union with Ýr¶ Hari. (1—4)