Salutations to You, O Lord, whose form is as deep and dark as a rain-laden cloud, and who is worshipped by the gods themselves. Viṣṇu, Lord of the universe, I call to You for protection, for I am submerged in the endless ocean of worldly existence. Again, I bow to You, whose form blazes like the fire at the end of time, the destroyer of demons. O Narasiṃha, of unassailable valor and eyes that burn with divine light, guard me. Just as, in ages past, You lifted the earth from the depths of the netherworld with Your mighty tusk, O Great Boar, so now rescue me from the ocean of suffering. I have praised these forms of Yours, O Kṛṣṇa—bestowers of boons—each one, beginning with Baladeva, existing in its own glory. Your limbs, O Lord of the gods, are Garuḍa and others; the guardians of the directions, with their weapons, and those forms beginning with Keśava and Acyuta, all are Yours. And all the other forms described by the wise, O Lord of the universe with gracious eyes, are likewise present and resplendent in You. I have worshipped and praised all these forms, offering my salutations to each. Grant me a boon, O Lord, that bestows righteousness, desire, wealth, and liberation. Those forms of Yours, O Hari, beginning with Saṃkarṣaṇa, have been described; they arise for Your worship and are established in You alone. In the highest truth, O Lord of the gods, there is no division in You; all these different forms are but spoken of figuratively. How could any human speak of duality in You, who are truly non-dual? You alone, O Hari, are all-pervading, pure consciousness, untouched by any stain. Your supreme form is beyond both existence and non-existence, untouched and without qualities, the highest, unchanging, immovable, and eternal. Free from all limiting conditions, established in pure being alone, that form is unknown even to the gods—how then could I, O Lord, ever know it? Yet, another form of Yours is described: clad in yellow garments, with four arms, holding conch, discus, and mace, adorned with crown and armlets. With the Śrīvatsa mark on Your chest and a garland of forest flowers, this form is worshipped by the wise and by all who seek Your refuge. O God of gods, best among the gods, giver of fearlessness to Your devotees—save me, O lotus-eyed one, for I am sinking in the ocean of sense-objects. I see no other to whom I may turn for refuge, O Lord of the world. Except for You, beloved of Lakṣmī, be gracious, O slayer of Madhu. I am afflicted by the countless burdens of old age and disease, oppressed by many sorrows, tossed between joy and grief, deluded and tightly bound by the cords of karma. I have fallen into the dreadful, terrifying ocean of worldly existence, hard to cross, its waters poisoned and teeming with the fish of passion and aversion. This ocean is deep with the whirlpools of the senses, agitated by the waves of craving and sorrow, without support or foundation, devoid of true essence, utterly unstable. Lost there by Māyā, I wander endlessly, O Lord, being born again and again in thousands of different forms of existence. I have experienced countless births—thousands and tens of thousands—in this cycle of existence, O Janārdana. I have studied the Vedas with their branches, as well as various treatises, histories, ancient tales, and many arts. I have known both satisfaction and dissatisfaction, gain and loss, expenditures and increase, decrease, and what is neither, O Lord of the universe. I have been separated from and united with wives, enemies, and relatives; I have seen many fathers and mothers. Sorrows have befallen me, and many kinds of happiness have been mine; relatives, sons, brothers, and kin have likewise been gained. I have dwelt among women, in the foul womb filled with urine and excrement; such great suffering in the womb has also been my lot, O Lord. O Lord of the senses, I have suffered in childhood, youth, and old age. I have endured the pains of death, the journey to Yama, his abode, and the torments of hell. I have been born as worms, insects, trees, elephants, horses, deer, birds, buffaloes, camels, cows, and other creatures of the forest. I have taken birth in all castes of the twice-born, in the wombs of Shudras, among the wealthy, the Kṣatriyas, the poor, and ascetics. I have been born again and again in the homes of kings, their servants, and other embodied beings, O Lord. I have served many men, O Master, and have tasted poverty, lordship, and ownership. I have killed and been killed; I have caused death and been caused to die; I have given to others and received from others, many times. Through actions involving fathers, mothers, friends, brothers, wives, the wealthy, the learned, the poor, and ascetics, I have spoken of many forms of misery, casting aside shame, O Janārdana, among gods, animals, humans, and all beings, moving and unmoving. There is no place, O Lord, where I have not gone; I have dwelt in hell and in heaven, O Lord of the world. I have been among humans, among animals, tossed about like a pot tied to a rope in a water-wheel, moving upward and downward, and sometimes remaining in the middle; so too, O best of gods, am I bound by the rope of karma. I wander below, above, and in the middle, moved by the power of yoga; thus, in this dreadful wheel of samsara, O Romaharshana, I wander for ages, never seeing an end. I do not know what to do today, O Hari, for my senses are agitated and my heart is weary.