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The potter’s wheel is praised in shastras for its shape competing with a woman’s bosom—hence the potter is famed as master of ornaments.
A plea to the raincloud: even if you abandoned me in goodwill or guilt, do not part from the lightning, your beloved. A metaphor for parting lovers.
The moon’s form—delicate and gleaming—stirs dormant passion in the hearts of love-struck women, like a key opening emotional locks.
Wife and child—sweet poison hard to conquer. Generations drink of this attachment, are born and die entranced. A warning about worldly bonds.
Poetic allegory of war: Duryodhana roars like a thundercloud, Yudhishthira departs like a cuckoo, and the Pandavas enter exile like swans.
Where is that sweet face, those glances, lips, and brows that once enchanted? Now, a skull laughs mockingly—symbol of impermanence and illusion.
Think of the sunrays that awaken lotuses, bring hope to the beloveds of the night—hands of the dawn offering joy to beauty.
The moon rises to soothe parted lovers, dim the stars, challenge the sun, spread glow on lotus-fields, and frighten the night-blooming lilies.
A fool heard a wise word and dismissed it as trivial, only to later suffer sleepless nights in regret—wisdom is often recognized too late.
What burns me is that guests avoid our poor home like bees skipping dry flowers—poverty breeds social isolation.
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