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He alone deserves worship, whose brilliance restores the declining wealth of noble scholars.
The champaka flower, full of honey and golden like writing ink, looked like Cupid’s pen for love letters.
If the bee ignores nectar, what value has honey? If a lover ignores beauty, what worth is beauty?
The creator failed to match lotus eyes in symmetry and tossed the dust into a muddy pond in frustration.
I bow to the dark-hued son of Yadu, delight of Lakshmi, and refuge of devotees, resplendent like a blue lotus.
He is dark like a blue lotus; she, fair like lightning. May their union shine like cloud and lightning together.
Her moon-like face surpassed the lotus in radiance, even moonlight paled before her beauty.
The only cures for your fierce glances, O lotus-eyed, are your nectar lips and sandal on your breasts.
All ornaments of the forest maiden were stolen, yet her nose-ring remained—was it too close to her heart?
With lotus for eyes, lily for mouth, coral for lips, the creator fashioned her—but alas, made her heart from stone.
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