Kaam, the incendiary, a furnace unchained,
He scorches the marrow where passions are reigned.
His altar is hunger, his sacrifice flame,
He leaves but the cinders of honor and name.
Krodh, the destroyer, with tempestuous breath,
He tramples on reason and heralds in death.
His sabre is venom, his banner a cry,
He sunders all concord, leaves harmony dry.
Lobh, the devourer, abyss without end,
He gorges on brother, he fattens on friend.
No chalice can sate him, no vessel can store,
His appetite rages — insatiable, sore.
Moh, the enchantress, she weaves her dark skein,
With filaments silken she fashions the chain.
Her garden is gilded, her nectar deceives,
Her roses are fetters, her comfort bereaves.
Ahankar, the monarch, enthroned upon pride,
Proclaims himself sovereign, though hollow inside.
His citadel totters, his diadem falls,
Before the Eternal his arrogance palls.
Together they thunder, these horsemen profane,
They ravage the spirit, they darken the brain.
But hark — a resounding, ineffable Word,
The primal, the deathless, the Shabad is heard.
Its cadence dismantles their iron domain,
Its radiance scatters delusion and chain.
It cleaves through illusion, it silences lies,
It opens the pathway where liberty flies.
O pilgrim of anguish, inscribe on thy breath
The syllables sovereign that nullify death.
The Shabad, the Current, the Flame ever free,
Shall vanquish the horsemen and draw thee to Thee.
