Page 597 of 1110
Here is wrath, there is greed, and lust roams like a fiend—such is the world, like a cremation ground, offering no lasting joy.
Like a warrior offering weapons and valor in battle, I offer you these qualities—be mine, O noble lady.
As the eastern sky is pierced with crimson rays, a bride unveils her chest adorned with musk—dawn and passion mirror each other.
The teacher orders, but the student—torn between duty and love—casts one last tearful glance, burning like a poisoned arrow in my heart.
The moon’s rays quench the night’s grief, while Cupid’s fire blazes—yet commands cannot bear disobedience, like unbearable heat.
Morning’s splendor rises as radiant moonlight gives way to sunlit hues, symbolizing the awakening of the blessed.
From the east, red light pierces darkness; bees buzz over lotus ponds; lovers stagger with anklets clinking—morning is alive with stories.
That demon, once prosperous, does not deserve decline—yet the poisonous tree, even if grown, must be cut down.
Kṛṣṇa sleeps while his enemies and devotees alike lie scattered; the ocean bears them all—fiery, vast, yet patient.
That which flickers in the heart is the true divine; outer expressions are mere illusions—as reflections on water.
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. 🙏