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These bees, drunk on fragrant lotuses, roam freely from grove to grove, tasting nature’s honey.
The pollen and hum from blooming buds echoes the lover’s separation—like Cupid’s arrows.
Even a few harsh sunrays dry travelers—your nature shouldn’t become like theirs: sharp and cruel.
These arrows, raised with lotus dust, lose direction like calamities—unable to strike their mark.
My companions, once close, now conceal their faces and drift far away. In comfort, even strangers seem like family; in distress, no one remains a true...
These splendid trees, though blooming and fruitful, stand motionless, encased in hard bark. Guarded by royal decree, they find peace like men with dut...
Bees delight in drinking nectar from fresh palash blooms, yet some people, envious of ripening mangoes, spoil them prematurely—what strange contradict...
O cloud! Waste no time with your deep rumblings—release rain swiftly! Sweet noise means little without timely action.
Behold the cedar before you, adopted like a son by Shiva, for it knows the sweetness of Parvati’s nectar that once nourished Skanda.
Her playful glances and half-revealed waist-band suggest innocence, but one cannot be sure—they resemble the enchanting tricks of heavenly nymphs.
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