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Love has blossomed like a creeper in the heart—tender, easily damaged, it must be protected from gossip and external heat.
This young bride, though mentally strong, is inwardly fragile—she feigns courage, but her feminine heart remains tender and anxious.
This maiden stares constantly with lotus eyes, casting romantic glances—but though I’ve overcome love’s fever, she won’t relent.
This young girl is like a tender vine attracted to a strong tree, but unaware that poison resides within—it may burn her from within.
This golden creeper entwined on a serpent's path, adorned with flowers and bees, enters the line of sight like a sensuous symbol.
Just as I arrived, adorned like a chaste wife embracing separation, the sun, jealous, angrily tore her starry ornaments from the sky.
This proud lady, scorning even the lords of all directions, desires only Shiva, untouched by beauty, the conqueror of desire.
Near her lotus face, bees are either lovingly placed or gently dismissed with her locks—her actions are a mystery.
Though his enemies' fame is sweet and radiant, she flees, terrified, like darkness from light—the ink of envy disperses.
By theatrical presence, false skill in arts, and feigned melody, she attains the reputation of a connoisseur.
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