The sun rose from my heart.
Touching the surface of the Greater Samodra.
The sun is out of my mouth,
be a rainbow on the horizon.
Your face pops out of my forehead,
O you, poor woman!
your feet are buried in the mud.
You expect a quarter bushel of rice,
and in the middle of the rice fields the landlord planted you!
One million men are bald
out of the wilderness,
their bodies covered in mud
and their heads flash
reflect sunlight.
Their eyes light up
their bodies become embers
and they burned the world.
The sun is the orange chakra
which Lord Krishna's hand let go.
It is your mercy and your curse,
yes, mankind!