S O O H E E , F I R S T M E H L , S I X T H H O U S E
Bronze is bright and shiny, but when it is rubbed, its blackness appears.
Washing it, its impurity is not removed, even if it is washed a hundred times.
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They alone are my friends, who travel along with me;
and in that place, where the accounts are called for, they appear standing with me.
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Pause || There are houses, mansions and tall buildings, painted on all sides;
but they are empty within, and they crumble like useless ruins.
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The herons in their white feathers dwell in the sacred shrines of pilgrimage.
They tear apart and eat the living beings, and so they are not called white.
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My body is like the simmal tree;
seeing me, other people are fooled.
Its fruits are useless — just like the qualities of my body.
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The blind man is carrying such a heavy load, and his journey through the mountains is so long.
My eyes can see, but I cannot find the Way.
How can I climb up and cross over the mountain?
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What good does it do to serve, and be good, and be clever?
O Nanak, contemplate the Naam, the Name of the Lord, and you shall be released from bondage.
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