Parideva: Lamentation
Parideva is grief that breaks into voice. The doubled cry, my eye, my eye, is what sorrow does when it cannot hold still, repeating itself the way a person rocks back and forth. Weeping like this belongs in the old lists as ordinary weather for anyone who loves what can be taken, so seeing it plainly is where understanding starts.
Piyehi vippayogo: Parting from what is dear
This names the pain of being separated from the beloved. Children carried off by an army leave a house where every doorway still expects them, and the ache sits exactly where the love sat. Grief of this size arrives because anything held close can be lost, and the holding close is what gives the loss its weight.
Mamaṅkāra: Mine-making
Mamaṅkāra is the mind's habit of stamping mine on what it holds. My eye, my soul, my children: the word runs through the weeping like a thread, and each my marks a place where loss can land. A landlord and a passerby watch the same house burn, and the difference between them is a deed in a drawer, which is where the grief gets in.
Kamma-vipāka: The ripening of deeds
Kamma-vipāka is action coming to fruit. The enemy prevailing stands at the harvest end of a long season, and Zion points back to the sowing herself a few lines on, admitting she rebelled. Setting ruin inside a chain of causes leaves room to work, since the next deed is still unsown.
Attadīpa: An island to yourself
Attadīpa is the instruction to stand as your own refuge. The comforter is far off, and the comfort he would have brought was always on loan, arriving and departing on someone else's schedule. Someone caught in rising water can wait for a boat that may never come, or find the high ground under their own feet, and the island meant here is the one nobody can carry off.