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On Thy fingertips revolve hundreds, nay, millions of universes

How is it justified if you make me, this poor child

Also revolve on the same fingertips of Thine.

“May your far-reaching eyes—which are only slightly open like a blue lotus just beginning to bloom—bathe even a worthless, far-removed one like me in your grace.

Just as the cooling rays of the moon fall equally on the mansion and the wilderness, it will incur you no loss, O Shive, but this person will indeed become blessed.” —Soundarya Lahari, 57