Argue no more about it,
Man’s crude and foolish mind, and that alone,
Hath taught this tale of many gods:
It is a lie:
For God is One,
And unto Him,
My soul shall sing her praise.
I was sleeping when Namdeo and Vitthal Stepped into my dream.
'Your job is to make poems. Stop wasting time,' Namdeo said.
Vitthal gave me the measure and gently aroused me from a dream inside a dream.
Namdeo vowed to write one billion poems.
Thou art more kind than mother dear,
More soothing than the rays of moon
Thy love an ever flowing tide,
None see me off. Let those go home who will
Receive this blessing from a loosing heart
Let righteous deed secure you all good weal
Smaller than the smallest atom,
All embracing as the heavens,
Tuka views the world objective -
Can water drink itself?
Can a tree taste its own fruit?
The worshiper of God must
remain distinct from Him.
All men to me are god-like Gods!
My eyes no longer see
vice or fault.