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The nectar that saints offer from their mantra-bearing tongues is as splendid as the churning of the ocean by Mandara mountain.
The wise who take refuge in knowledge relish the nectar of wisdom, while others suffer endlessly in worldly cycles.
In winter, fire is nectar; milk as food, a virtuous wife, and a child’s talk — all are nectar incarnate.
Fire in winter, the sight of a beloved, royal honor, and a milk meal — these are nectar-like pleasures of life.
Fire, a child’s words, a dear wife, and one’s own prestige — each is a taste of immortality.
Winter fire, master’s honor, virtuous wife, and warm milk — these form the nectar of life.
A wife of good qualities, sweet talk of a child, royal honor, and a meal served with respect — all are life’s nectarous blessings.
If her milky breasts, like crystal-starred sky, pour drops from the nectar ocean, then speech itself becomes a constant flow of poetic nectar.
Hearing the sweet nectar-flowing words of the deer-eyed lady, even a bitter-voiced bird imitates her melody repeatedly.
The healing herbs flowing with nectar of lotus-eyed maidens may spread relief, yet the body still suffers the venom of beauty.
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