வேண்டல் வேண்டாமை யில்லான் விரும்பிலான் விருப்பினுள்ளே
வேண்டிய பசிதாகங்கள் வீதிகாண் மரணத்திற்கே
வேண்டினார் தவத்தினுள்ளே விச்சையா மிச்சையாவான்
வேண்டுத லற்றயில்லோன் வாழ்வினில் விளக்கமாவான்
vēṇṭal vēṇṭāmai yillān virumpilān viruppinuḷḷē
vēṇṭiya pasitākaṅkaḷ vītikāṇ maraṇattiṟkē
vēṇṭinār tavattiṉuḷḷē viccaiyā miccaiyāvān
vēṇṭuta laṟṟayillōṉ vāḻviṉil viḷakkamāvān
He who has neither “wanting” nor “not-wanting,” who does not seek (or prefer), remains within the field of preference without being bound by it.
The hunger and thirst that one “wants” — look, they are seen on the street — and they belong only to death.
Those who “want” even inside austerity will become either ‘viccai’ or ‘miccai’.
But the one in whom wanting is utterly absent becomes a lamp (a light/clarity) in life.
The Siddhar points to a person who has transcended both desire and aversion: living amid the world of likes and dislikes, yet not compelled by it.
Craving—figured as “hunger and thirst” that people chase openly in ordinary life—leads ultimately to death (i.e., to bondage, decay, and repeated ending).
Even spiritual effort (tapas) becomes compromised if it is driven by wanting: it yields only powers/techniques or spiritual ‘remnants’ rather than liberation.
Only the one who has uprooted wanting itself becomes a true light in living—an illumined presence rather than a seeker still bargaining with desire.
The verse operates on the Siddhar critique of icchai (wanting) in all its refined forms. “Wanting” and “not-wanting” are treated as a pair (attachment and aversion) that keeps the mind oscillating; freedom is not merely choosing the “right” object, but dissolving the compulsive structure of preference itself.
“Hunger and thirst” are literal bodily drives and, simultaneously, metaphors for craving (tr̥ṣṇā): the appetite that can never finally be satisfied. Calling them “seen on the street” makes the point that this is the common human condition—public, habitual, and normalized—yet it walks toward “death,” meaning not only physical death but the entire mortal economy of exhaustion, loss, and repeated collapse of satisfactions.
The third line warns that even tapas can become a continuation of desire. In Siddhar contexts, tapas pursued with wanting often aims at results—powers, recognition, longevity, influence—so the fruit becomes ‘viccai’ (often read as mantra-arts/occult techniques/siddhis) or ‘miccai’ (residuals, leftovers, lesser remainder). The teaching aligns with a standard yogic caution: siddhis can be achievements that still bind, because they preserve the doer’s hunger in subtler form.
Finally, the “lamp” image indicates jñāna as lived clarity: not merely an inner experience but an illuminating presence in ordinary life. The desireless one does not advertise austerity; their very living becomes guidance—steady, revealing, and not bargaining with the world’s objects.