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O startled chataka bird, why chase the sky in this burning desert? This glowing cloud is fire—not the rain you seek.
O timid chakor mother, shield your family with your wings. The moon rises, dispelling darkness—but what remains of what was lost?
O chataka, if the wind spills the droplet before it reaches your beak, it’s not the cloud’s fault. The giver is virtuous—the misfortune lies in the un...
O mind, how little love and wealth make you greedy! Yet separation from the beloved torments even the peaceful Lord Shiva.
O mind-bird, weary from wandering in the forest of desires, if you seek rest, then settle beneath the wish-fulfilling tree of Shiva.
O cloud, if you won’t give a single drop to the chataka, he’ll soon offer you a libation at your own funeral—evaporated from his hopes.
O musk, even if the vulgar discard you mistaking you for mud, worry not—there are still kings on earth who know your worth.
O beloved, Cupid drinks the sight of your face sip by sip; even in darkness, your smile is his weapon, never missing the stricken.
O lotus petal, bees sip your nectar and hum sweetly, but your true friend is the breeze, spreading your fragrance selflessly across directions.
O Lord of Mathura, filled with compassion for the helpless—when will you look upon me? My heart spins in despair, longing for your gaze.
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