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Her graceful form, an image of Cupid’s love arena, instantly erases all other thoughts from the hearts of young men.
That playful cowherd, Gopāla, adorned with vibrant earrings, fluttering robes, and eager for the dance of love—may he appear in my heart.
Women constantly adorned and clinging to Cupid's exploits, adorned with many ornaments, bring pure joy to those who bow and unite with them.
Just as the lightning shines amid dark clouds, so do Cupid’s weapons glow amid dark-skinned damsels, causing pain yet irresistible beauty.
For those who have embraced love and refined desires, sacred ashes on the body become ornaments—not blemishes.
May Kāma, who conquered the three worlds through the company of women and without a body, bless you with all desires—he is wondrous indeed.
Today, Cupid will curse his own formlessness, for he could not even attain the joy of your touch.
Your glance is not blackened with kajal, brows not bent in flirtation, lips uncolored—yet your natural beauty surpasses all ornament.
Her waist-belt and anklets never stop jingling—her movements are a melodious celebration without cause.
The sky, recently cleared of lingering clouds, still resembles the foamy, bubbling water—washing the earth like a purified, consecrated surface.
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