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Let people adorn themselves with ornaments gathered from the rivers of the world—Manikarnika, Tamraparni, and others—but only the jewel of liberation ...
The radiant moonbeams, unmarked yet fragrant, flirt with the swan flocks, mimicking the foam of sacred Ganga waves touching the locks of Shiva.
Better a small well than the vast sea—if its water is sweet and quenches the traveler’s thirst.
Who has not been deceived by this desert well—its muddy banks slick with the tears of deluded travelers?
This Yamuna water sport was her joy, as the deer-eyed maiden was swiftly embraced by the lover like a deer caught in motion.
With that very ash from her beloved’s body, the beautiful one stained her breasts, like soft red leaves covering delicate soil.
Today, on this path, that charming Hari arrived again—alas, I, out of fear of others, turned him away. Long has it been since I last saw him.
In that grove filled with melodious trees and dancing bees, who could truly understand your poetic rhythm, O wise parrot? Why tire yourself?
In that dense grove, where dark shadows rule, our eyes can't tell if it’s day or night—every blink and glance seems the same.
In this garden, a deceitful bird mocks with shrill sounds—O parrot! Let your virtuous words ring louder; silence is no friend of the wise.
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