Page 807 of 1110
At dawn, women emerge slowly from vine-covered huts, with sweat and sweet gestures, like nature blooming in passion.
In a forest once full of elephants, now only fire plays—where were you when destruction came? Beauty must act before ruin.
In spring, even gentle touches excite hearts—but if separation comes, it crushes like a storm.
At midday, even breeze and shadow retreat in fear of the sun—nature shows humility before intense heat.
Rivers resembling Ram and Lakshman vanish, and now powerful streams race unchecked—poetic reflection on virtue’s absence.
Her twin breasts reflect moonlight like bronze cymbals announcing the festival of love—blissful vision of beauty.
Amid swelling passion, movements and emotions arise—bodies shimmer like dancing lotuses, even in the pauses between tears.
As clouds roar and waters crash, even the sky seems to close its moon-eyes and fall asleep—poetic metaphor for deep silence amid chaos.
Who created this bright desert lake with lotus huts and buzzing bees? A miracle in the wilderness that delights the weary.
Even when all signs point to capture, the deer remains unafraid—like the beloved who surrenders completely to love’s power.
Help us expand this library of wisdom! If you know a Shloka or Subhashitam that isn't yet featured, please share it with our community.
Submit Your ShlokaYour contributions are greatly appreciated. 🙏