O Lord, your supreme form transcends all boundaries of existence and non-existence. It remains untouched, without qualities, the highest and unchanging reality—immovable and eternal. Free from every limiting condition, established solely in pure being, your essence is so subtle and profound that even the gods cannot comprehend it. How, then, could I hope to know it, O Lord? Yet you reveal another form, described as wearing radiant yellow garments, with four arms holding the conch, discus, and mace. Adorned with a crown and armlets, your chest bears the auspicious Śrīvatsa mark, and you are garlanded with forest flowers. This divine form is worshipped by the wise and by all who seek your refuge. O God of gods, best among the gods, you grant fearlessness to your devotees. I beseech you, O lotus-eyed one, to save me, for I am submerged in the vast ocean of sense-objects. There is no other to whom I may turn for refuge, O Lord of the world—except you, beloved of Lakṣmī, be gracious, O slayer of Madhu. I am afflicted by countless sufferings—old age, disease, sorrows, joy, and grief—deluded and tightly bound by the cords of karma. I have fallen into the dreadful, terrible ocean of worldly existence, nearly impossible to cross, its waters poisonous and teeming with the fish of passion and aversion. The senses create deep whirlpools, waves of craving and sorrow agitate me, and I find myself without support, foundation, or essence, utterly unstable. Deluded by Māyā, I wander endlessly, O Lord, being born again and again in thousands of different forms. I have experienced countless births—thousands and tens of thousands—in this cycle of existence, O Janārdana. I have studied the Vedas and their branches, various treatises, histories, ancient tales, and many arts. I have known both dissatisfaction and satisfaction, accumulation and loss, expenditures, increases, decreases, and states that are neither. I have experienced separation and union with wives, enemies, and relatives, and witnessed many fathers and mothers. Sorrows and countless kinds of happiness have come to me, as have relatives, sons, brothers, and kin. I have dwelt among women, endured the foul suffering of the womb filled with urine and excrement—such great pain has also been mine, O Lord. I have endured many sufferings in childhood, youth, and old age. I have faced the agony of death, the path to Yama, and the torments of hell. I have been among worms, insects, trees, elephants, horses, deer, birds, buffaloes, camels, cows, and other forest creatures. I have been born in all castes of the twice-born, in the wombs of Shudras, among the wealthy, the Kshatriyas, the poor, and ascetics. I have been born repeatedly in the homes of kings, their servants, and countless other embodied beings, O Lord. I have served many men, O Master, and experienced poverty, lordship, and ownership. I have killed and been killed, caused death and been caused to die, given 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 various forms of misery, abandoning shame, O Janardana, among gods, animals, humans, immobile and moving beings. There is no place, O Lord, where I have not gone. When have I dwelt in hell, when in heaven, O Lord of the world? When have I been among humans, when among animals, as if caught in a water-wheel, like a pot bound by a rope? This wheel moves upward and downward and sometimes stays in the middle; so too, O best of gods, am I enveloped by the rope of karma. I wander below, above, and in the middle, moving by the power of yoga. Thus, in this dreadful wheel of samsara, O Romaharshana, I wander for a long time, never seeing an end. I do not know what to do today, O Hari; my senses are agitated. Overcome by grief and thirst, I am confused and lost. Now, O Lord, I come to you, distressed and seeking refuge. Save me, O Krishna, for I am suffering and submerged in the ocean of samsara. Have mercy, O Lord of the world, if you consider me your devotee. Except for you, I have no friend who will care for me. O Lord, having attained you as my protector, I have no fear anywhere. In life and in death, in prosperity and adversity, O Lord, those base men who do not worship you properly—how can there be a good destination for those bound in the cycle of worldly existence? What use to them is family, conduct, learning, or even life itself? Those in whom devotion to Keśava, the Creator of the universe, does not arise—who, deluded, revile you, having attained a demonic nature—they fall into dreadful hell, being born again and again. For them, there is no deliverance from the ocean of hell. Those wicked ones of evil conduct, lowest among men, who revile you, O Lord—wherever I am born because of my karma— May there, O Hari, always be firm devotion to you. Gods, demons, humans, and others, having worshipped you with restraint, have attained supreme perfection. Who would not worship you, O Lord, who have attained the highest perfection? Even Brahmā and the other gods, O Hari, are unable to praise you.