O MY CHILD, my infant Shiva, self-forgetful, at every step of thy wild dance things totter and tumble, thy gatherings are scattered, and a whirlwind of destruction spreads the dust of thy trampled toys in the sky. From desolation to desolation thy world finds its release; the stream of thy play ever flows through the burst bond of thy playthings; revelling in penury thou buildest thy creation with trifles, in the next moment to forget it for a mere caprice; with the sky for thy robe, all covers thou flingest away from thy limbs. With thy riches hidden in thy being thou dwellest in a world bare of all shame and show and thought for self, in a destitution that never makes thee poor, and the dust that soils not thy purity, the sweep of thine own dance ever wiping thee white. O Shiva, the Child, know me for thy lover, thy disciple in dancing, teach me the wisdom of unconcern, the game of breaking of toys, teach me how to guide my steps to the time of thy footfalls, how to move free by rending the webs of one's own weaving.
IF PEOPLE came to know where my king's palace is, it would vanish into the air. The walls are of white silver and the roof of shining gold. The queen lives in a palace with seven courtyards, and she wears a jewel that cost all the wealth of seven kingdoms. But let me tell you, mother, in a whisper, where my king's palace is. It is at the corner of our terrace where the pot of the tulsi plant stands. The princess lies sleeping on the far-away shore of the seven impassable seas. There is none in the world who can find her but myself. She has bracelets on her arms and pearl drops in her ears; her hair sweeps down upon the floor. She will wake when I touch her with my magic wand, and jewels will fall from her lips when she smiles. But let me whisper in your ear, mother; she is there in the corner of our terrace where the pot of the tulsi plant stands. When it is time for you to go to the river for your bath, step up to that terrace on the roof. I sit in the corner where the shadows of the walls meet together. Only puss is allowed to come with me, for she knows where the barber in the story lives. But let me whisper, mother, in your ear where the barber in the story lives. It is at the corner of the terrace where the pot of the tulsi plant stands.
