Wind blew! The sand enveloped the body,
Whatever little life left, is to see the beloved.
These Naangas go to Hinglaj
To see Mother Kali,
They have been to Dwarka,
These worshippers of Shiva.
There is nothing like them
On the Frontier
Or in Sindh
Or in Hindustan!
They have woven their souls in Rama:
Inside of them, there is only Rama:
Where Shiva oversees, that is where they settle.
I am conversant with the Yogis
Who always seek the sun.
All the hours of the day, their eyes are on mother Kali.