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Even the impossible—cloud-flowers—can offer coolness. But the selfish turn away even when help is easy.
Clouds, youth, kingdoms, and even dignity in begging—all have a definite end. Nothing is permanent.
Your glances have not even touched the grace of your brows. Yet your eyes charm like deer—graced with all qualities.
Though immersed in nectar-like praise from a beloved, it becomes bitter if offered to the undeserving—true sweetness lies in who delivers it.
Her tender smile, tinged with the scent of blooming jasmine, intoxicated my mind—grace of spring personified.
When the mind is disturbed, all actions fail—like artwork on a burnt cloth disappears in fire.
No letter lacks mantra, no root lacks healing power, no man is unworthy—only a proper guide is rare.
(Variant) No land is truly barren, only the learned are rare who can utilize its potential.
As strong rains strike mountains, clouds shine like archers with rainbow bows—a scene of valor in nature.
Her anklets chime as she moves gracefully, playing with a ball. The ornaments speak joy, charm, and the beauty of her sport.
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