You punish yourself, Baba,
Tasting the power of life in your veins,
Tasting it as it drips quietly away, but
There's no life for you in these chains.

Perfection is a smooth, round pebble,
A cutting orb trapped in your sandal,
But as the blood pours trailing on the ground,
Clothed in tears, I will light your votive candle.

Your skin sags its sorry sighs,
But in the lying mirror, a trick of the eye,
Sunken eyes and a skeleton
Are once, twice bitten, but never shy

Have you achieved Nirvana, Baba?
Now that your body has gone away?
Have you left behind earthly terrors,
And the fears and cries of today?

And from your withered lips
This answer will eternally resound,
That you've seen final salvation
And for a rotting tongue, been crowned.