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Your face, radiant with arching brows and red lips, is like a divine garden; anything else is just wilderness.
Your face is like the flawless moon, your eyes like blue lotuses, your brows like Cupid’s bows—how can doe-eyed girls not meditate on you?
O doe-eyed one, why grieve for fallen breasts? The proud, like overly high peaks, fall eventually—such is nature’s law.
A thousand lotus-eyed girls appear—where to look? Overwhelmed, the devotee closes eyes and stands in ecstasy before Krishna.
Vivid imagery of a battlefield with scattered corpses and half-eaten remains—a reminder of war's horror and transience.
The goddess arises, dispelling dark skies and planetary gloom, with radiance like gems from a divine jewel box—poetic vision of divine emergence.
Understanding all, plant trees—for they aid in all four human aims: Dharma, Artha, Kama, and Moksha.
Friends, this girl is like a flickering lamp in the wind—delicate and sacred. Protect her from the darkness of despair.
A wise king uplifts his state through good ministers and policy; a negligent one drives it to ruin.
A dry reservoir offers no help to a thirsty traveler. O cloud! Why did you block the real path of water with meaningless display?
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