Purananuru - Part 146
We don't want your wealth! We don't want your precious gems!
Pekan who kills in battle! If you would show me your favor
and grant me a gift while, playing in the cevvali raga of longing
on my small yal, I sing of your fine, mountainous land,
then lord! hitch the horses to your towering chariot
of great speed so that upon that pitiful young woman
grown thin through your cruelty, wasting away
with gnawing grief, a sight of suffering, they may
with sweet smoke perfume the hair lush as the tail
of a peacock lifted by the wind
and then adorn it with a cool and fragrant garland.
Pekan who kills in battle! If you would show me your favor
and grant me a gift while, playing in the cevvali raga of longing
on my small yal, I sing of your fine, mountainous land,
then lord! hitch the horses to your towering chariot
of great speed so that upon that pitiful young woman
grown thin through your cruelty, wasting away
with gnawing grief, a sight of suffering, they may
with sweet smoke perfume the hair lush as the tail
of a peacock lifted by the wind
and then adorn it with a cool and fragrant garland.
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