A fresh translation of hymn 1.32 of Rigveda available at
This Vena, born of Prsni’s womb, cherished with lamps, in his stately chariot.
(My translation of verse 1 of Hymn 10.123 of Rigveda.
You have no form, but you have always existed, just as dust that sits in the air.
Who can capture you? who can kill you? whose arrows can make you subservient? who else exists that’s so inexplicable and mysterious?
(Actual Translation of the first verse of Hymn 10.129 by Kant)
“The pain that a horse whip causes, I feel the same piercing pain in this rain.”
From Rigveda Hymn 5.83.3 (my translation)