6 - The prayer of the wandering beggar

This is not my own country or garb; by chance I have wandered here. What can I claim as mine? Where have I found a resting place? Though I call my feet and my hands my own, how bereft I am of them! I am a friendless stranger blind and lame. O Lord, regard and relieve me; I have neither brother nor child, I commit myself to the saints. I tremble as I follow the path before me, whereon many have traveled and none returned. I cannot see what happens though my ears perceive a sound. I sit at the crossroads, holding thee fast in my thoughts. I cry out for mercy like one that has lost his way. My belly is never filled; my feet are never at rest. I am weary with wandering through the eight million villages. I cling to this inhabited spot; what can I trust to? Who will bring me an unexpected alms? Often have I heard its praises sung in such a strain that now I cry, O meritorious Lord, be my friend! I am very hungry, but you give freely. Any merits I had, I resign. Wealth, family, son, mother, all these ties I have cast off. O God, I have renounced desire, for so it was decreed I should do. Tuka says, You are now my all-powerful protector.