Page 268 of 1110
These tall, ripened rice plants bend as if to smell the fragrance of lotus—they bow in beauty.
These trees, desiring even gutter water, await your grace like the baby chataka bird seeks rain only from clouds.
Like butter churned from mud, the son was born divine from impure surroundings—purity transcends.
These clouds, like us, have grand forms but no effect—they drift helplessly like rivers losing themselves.
Waterweeds floating on rivers deceive fish like fallen hairpieces of women—danger in disguise.
Life is transient—even mighty beings vanish in moments. Who then should mourn temporary loss?
In greed for wealth, we sacrifice all virtue—even singing our own disgrace to the rich.
Enraged at the blue lotus daring to rival her beauty, she casts an angry red glance—bewitching.
The perfect roundness of these breasts humbles even kings—who tremble and offer gifts.
Due to ignorance or misfortune, the emerald was unvalued—but now lies on the street, unheeded.
Help us expand this library of wisdom! If you know a Shloka or Subhashitam that isn't yet featured, please share it with our community.
Submit Your ShlokaYour contributions are greatly appreciated. 🙏