தேவாரம் வாசகந்தான் திகழக் கூட்டித்
திருவாயின் மொழியெல்லா முருவாய்ச் சேர்த்து
போவாரைப் போகாரைப் புலம்ப வைத்து
போக்கற்றார் தமக்குமொரு போக்குக் காட்டி
கோவாரம் பூவாரம் கொழிக்க விட்டு
கோலமுறச் செய்தாலும் குவல யத்தின்
பூபாரம் குறைந்திடுமோ குறைக்கொண் ணாது
புகன்றிட்டே னவள்போக்கைப் புகன்றிட் டேனே!
dēvāram vācakantān tikaḻak kūṭṭit
tiruvāyin moḻiyellā muruvāyc cērttu
pōvār aip pōkār aip pulampa vaittu
pōkkarrār tamakkumoru pōkkuk kāṭṭi
kōvāram pūvāram koḻikka viṭṭu
kōlamuṟac ceytālum kuvala yattin
pūpāram kuṟaintiṭumō kuṟaikkoṇ ṇātu
pukaṉṟiṭṭē ṉavaḷpōkkaip pukaṉṟiṭ ṭēṉē!
Gathering the Tēvāram and the Vācakam so that they may shine,
joining all the words from the holy mouth into a single embodied form;
making those who go and those who do not go lament,
showing even the pathless a path;
letting “kōvāram” and “pūvāram” flourish and grow rich,
even if one fashions things with proper display and elegance—in this wide world,
will the earth’s burden be reduced? It will not be reduced.
I have entered (and/or declared) her way; I have entered it!
Even if one compiles the most revered Śaiva hymn-texts, forges them into an impressive doctrinal ‘body,’ and uses sacred speech to move people—making some follow, some resist, and yet offering guidance to the confused—still, external religiosity and ornamented performance (including prosperous offerings and ritual abundance) do not lessen the fundamental weight of worldly bondage. The Siddhar insists that true change lies in taking “her way”: the inner, secret route associated with the feminine power/Grace (Śakti) rather than mere public recitation and display.
This verse turns on a Siddhar critique of language, liturgy, and outward piety when they remain only ‘collecting’ and ‘arranging’ words. The opening lines name canonical Śaiva sources (Tēvāram, Tiruvācakam) and then speak of merging “all the words from the holy mouth” into “one form/body.” On one level, it evokes scholastic compilation and eloquent preaching: sacred utterance is assembled into a coherent shape.
Yet that same shaping of speech creates social and psychological effects—“making those who go and those who do not go lament.” The phrase can point to devotees and non-devotees alike: the devout may lament because mere recitation does not yield liberation; the indifferent may lament because they feel judged, pressured, or spiritually excluded. The Siddhar simultaneously claims a compassionate function—“showing the pathless a path”—suggesting that teachings can point to a method.
The middle image—“kōvāram” and “pūvāram” flourishing—intentionally stays cryptic. Read plainly, it resembles the ritual economy of devotion: cow-related offerings (milk, ghee, etc.) and flower-offerings thriving, i.e., religious prosperity and temple-ornamentation increasing. Read alchemically/medical-yogically, it can hint at preparatory substances and processes (cow-derived materials and botanical/flower essences) ‘ripening’ or ‘fermenting’ (“kozikka vittu”), a typical Siddhar register where outer materials mirror inner transformations.
But the punchline is ethical-metaphysical: even if everything is done “in proper form” and with grandeur, the “burden of the earth” does not lessen. ‘Earth’s burden’ can be read as (1) the karmic weight of samsāra, (2) the collective suffering of the world, or (3) the inert heaviness (tamas) that keeps consciousness earthbound. The Siddhar denies that surface-level acts—however orthodox, beautiful, or prosperous—can by themselves reduce that burden.
The closing refrain, “I have entered/declared her way,” shifts from public religion to an inward, feminine-coded route. “Her” may denote Śakti/Grace, the kundalinī-power, the secret ‘way’ of inner practice, or—more boldly in Siddhar idiom—the generative portal (yoni/mūla) as a symbol for the root-gate where transformation is initiated. The deliberate ambiguity lets the verse function on several levels: devotion (Grace), yoga (inner path), and esoteric sexuality/alchemy (the hidden gate) without fixing a single exoteric meaning.