In these verses, a profound reflection unfolds on the nature of the world and its ceaseless transformations. Even today, among those untouched by even a trace of greed, tales of noble deeds rarely arise—just as a creeper growing in the sky cannot bear the fruit of greatness. The world, longing to attain the state of the noble, is hindered only by its own mind, and so it falls without hesitation, like a beast leaping from a mountain peak in pursuit of a blue creeper leaf. People’s riches and bodies are likened to trees growing in a chasm, whose inner branches, shadows, leaves, fruits, and flowers are all confined within, offering little to the world outside. Similarly, people themselves are bound, their wealth and virtues hidden away. They wander sometimes among gentle and beautiful souls, sometimes among the fierce, just as black antelopes roam through the endless intervals between different forest groves. Every day, new and unsettling tasks arise from the ripening of bitter fruits of past actions—some terrifying, some delightful—unsettling all people. Yet, these do not astonish the minds of the deceitful. Many remain attached to desires and various wicked arts; even in dreams, a truly good person is rare. All actions are uncertain and troubled, entangled with suffering, and one wonders how this condition called life is to be led. Whatever is seen in this world, whether moving or unmoving, is unstable—like a meeting in a dream. What appears today as a dry ocean, sunken and visible, by morning becomes a mountain covered with clouds. That mountain, vast and forested, touching the sky and seeming unshakable, within days becomes level with the earth or sinks into a pit. The body that today is adorned with silk garlands and fragrant ointments, tomorrow lies far away, exposed to the elements in a deserted place. Where today a city is bustling with restless activities, in days, that same place may become a desolate forest or barren plain. The man who today is powerful and rules over kingdoms soon becomes a heap of ashes. That terrifying wilderness, vast as the sky and covered with banners, itself becomes a city. The formidable stretch of forest, thick with creepers and shining, within days turns into desert land. Water becomes land, and land turns into water; wood, water, and grass constantly change places. Youth, childhood, the body, and accumulations of wealth—all are impermanent, passing ceaselessly from one state to another, like waves. Life in this world is as restless as the flame of a lamp disturbed by the wind; the splendor of objects in the three worlds flashes like lightning. The multitude of elements undergoes constant transformation, like a heap of seeds sprouting again and again. The mind, stirred by the winds of the world, scatters the dust of countless elements, adorned with the drama of calamities, reversals, fortune, and misfortune. This worldly existence, born of delusion, is perceived as a state, unfolding like a dancer’s performance—the actress of samsara begins her dance. She creates illusions like a city of gandharvas, arranging reversals, charming in her subtle gestures and delightful in her grand dealings. Again and again she spreads flickering light like lightning; the enchantment of samsara shines forth like a dance. Those days are gone, those riches, those actions too; everything has entered the realm of memory, and we ourselves depart in a moment. Every day it declines, every day it arises again; even now, for this ruined form, there is no end to this burnt-out samsara. Humans become animals, animals attain humanity; gods too lose their divinity—what here, O Lord, remains constant? The sun, weaving day and night again and again with its rays, swiftly passes through time and observes its limit of destruction. Brahma, Vishnu, Rudra, and all kinds of beings pursue only destruction, just as waters rush toward the submarine fire. The sky, earth, wind, space, mountains, rivers, and directions—all are dry fuel for the fire of destruction. Wealth, relatives, servants, friends, and possessions—all become tasteless for one who fears annihilation. These worldly states delight the wise only as long as they remain in memory, before the demon of destruction arrives. For a moment comes prosperity, for a moment poverty; for a moment health, for a moment illness. With every moment, this great illusion brings reversal; who, even among the wise, is not bewildered by the world’s delusion? For a moment, the sky is sullied by darkness; for a moment, it is beautiful with gentle golden light. For a moment, it is adorned with blue lotuses and clouds; for a moment, it resounds with tumultuous noise, and for a moment, it stands silent and mute. For a moment, it sparkles with stars; for a moment, it is adorned by the sun; for a moment, it is gladdened by the moon; for a moment, it is entirely cast out. With the supreme coming and going, with existence and destruction, who in this world, even the wise, does not fear this? Calamities come for a moment, fortunes come for a moment; birth and death are but a moment—what is not momentary? Before, there was something else here; now, something different has arisen with the passing of days. Even what appears uniform is not firmly established. The cloth is seen as a pot, and the pot’s existence is seen in the cloth; what is not seen does not exist—thus, the cycle of existence is reversed. A hero is slain by a coward, and a single one slays a hundred; the ordinary attain dominance—everything in the world turns in cycles. Thus, the story of the world is one of ceaseless change, uncertainty, and illusion, where all things rise and fall, transform and vanish, and nothing remains constant except the dance of samsara itself.