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As she bends to gather flowers, her graceful pose pretends fear of disturbing the tree—but her real intent is to embrace her beloved’s neck.
The moon appears as if to compare itself to her face—but fades, ashamed, unable to match her radiance.
Hold back the tears rising between your eyelids, for the path where you once walked now feels uneven without you.
One may rise to the sky or run across the earth—but only what is destined will come.
Birds rise and fall, yet despite effort, only what is earned truly stays with them.
Her lotus-eyes, restless as bees, create a web of illusions as she roams, bows, and charms the heart.
Whether one flies to the sky or dives to the netherworld—what is unallotted can never be attained.
If plagued by disease or famine, it's better to relocate—even without invitation, survival calls.
Her body arises from the ocean of nectar, her moonlike beauty rivaling sacred waters and fire—she herself is purity incarnate.
When one is already fulfilled by noble origin, what need is there for additional purification?
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