I have no trust in my deeds.
I know the ocean of Time
With persistent waves slashing
Will erode it day by day.
I trust only myself.
Every day and every night
Filling that chalice
I have drunk the perennial nectar
Of the universe :
The love of every moment
Gathered at its bottom.
Its burden of suffering crushed none,
In its art
No dust has been soiled.
I know, when I leave
The theatre of existence,
The flowery woodlands from season to season
Will testify that I loved.
I loved this universe.
Gift of this birth,
This very love is true.
At the moment of my departure,
Untarnished, this truth shall disown death.
[ rogshajyay, "From the Sick-bed", No.26, 1940]