A universe You have built, what's this You've made;
Yourself, You've kept veiled!
Not remaining in the shrine,
At depths of mind You've stayed.
Your cosmic play is hard to comprehend;
Defeat, logic and reason tend to accept.
Not having stayed in floral bed,
You've sat on a thorny chair.
You're the Master, the refuge of everybody;
Those created and maintained, they follow You only.
Hence, the win of You alone they all sing;
You've bestowed the fervor theirs.
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This world You've made is topsy-turvy.
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