கண்ணுறங்கும் போதினிலே கனவுகன வின்கனவே
எண்ணுறங்கும் போதினிலே யின்பமுறும் சித்தமடா
மண்ணுறங்கும் மலையுறங்கும் விண்ணுறங்கும் வெற்றியடா
உண்ணுறங்கா மோனமடா பெண்ணவள்தான் வாலையடா
kaṇṇuṟaṅgum pōthinilē kanavukana vinkkanavē
eṇṇuṟaṅgum pōthinilē yinpamuṟum cittamaḍā
maṇṇuṟaṅgum malaiyuṟaṅgum viṇṇuṟaṅgum veṟṟiyaḍā
uṇṇuṟaṅgā mōnamaḍā peṇṇavaḷtāṉ vālaiyaḍā
When the eyes fall asleep, the dream is dream-upon-dream.
When thought falls asleep, the mind attains bliss, O friend.
The earth sleeps, the mountain sleeps, the sky sleeps—(that) is victory, O friend.
(It is) a silence that neither eats nor sleeps; that woman—she indeed is the “vālai”, O friend.
When sensory seeing withdraws, experience turns into layered inner imagery—dream nesting within dream.
When counting/thinking ceases, consciousness (citta) rests in a bliss that does not depend on objects.
When even the “earth,” the “mountain,” and the “sky” (the felt solidity of the world and body, the central axis, and the inner space) subside into stillness, that is the yogin’s victory.
In a wakeful silence beyond hunger and fatigue, the inner feminine power is revealed as the decisive “vālai”—whether the tail-end to be grasped, a slippery fish to be held, or a sword-like force that cuts bondage.
This verse uses “sleep” (உறங்கு) as a coded metaphor for successive withdrawals: (1) the senses quieten, (2) discursive thought quietens, and (3) the very framework of the manifested world quietens. The first line suggests that once outer perception shuts down, the mind produces subtler projections; Siddhar speech often treats both dream and waking as layered illusion, so “dream-upon-dream” can imply either intensified dream-visions in meditation or the claim that waking itself is only another dream.
The second line moves from sensory withdrawal to the cessation of mental enumeration (எண்—counting/constructing), pointing to a yogic bliss that arises when vṛtti (thought-wave) activity becomes dormant. Here “citta” is not praised for having pleasant experiences, but for becoming naturally content when grasping and measuring stop.
In the third line, “earth–mountain–sky” can be read cosmologically (the whole world goes quiet) and also microcosmically (body mapped as elements and regions): earth as the gross bodily sense of weight/solidity, mountain as the central pillar/“Meru” (spinal axis), and sky as the inner space of the head/awareness. Their “sleep” indicates a laya-like absorption where the practitioner no longer stands as a perceiver opposed to a perceived world; “victory” then means conquest over distraction, fear, and the compulsion of embodied limitation.
The final line names the consummating condition as mōnam (மோனம்)—not mere silence of speech, but an abiding, wakeful stillness “that neither eats nor sleeps,” i.e., a state not governed by bodily cycles or craving. The cryptic “woman” is a typical Siddhar sign for Śakti/Kundalinī (the interior power that moves, awakens, or cuts through). Calling her “vālai” deliberately keeps the key veiled: she may be the ‘tail’ to be seized (the end-point/handle of practice), the ‘fish’ that is hard to catch (restless life-force), or the ‘sword-like’ principle that severs bondage—each reading fits Siddhar pedagogy, which often encodes technique and attainment in polyvalent images.