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Look, O slender-waisted one, at the Tamraparni river—its drops become pearls on your breasts, transformed by your moonlike grace.
If I cut off these testicles, I’ll be scorned; if not, I’m mocked. My strength and masculinity are weighed with shame either way.
Shall I tie your dark curls or decorate your cheek with petals, or place your enchanting eyes upon your chest? I’m lost in beauty.
Girls sprinkle perfumed water with crushed flowers—youth flows from their curls like colored streams of passion.
Her disheveled hair, fallen petals, and water-splashed face make her look even more beautiful—grace thrives in playful abandon.
These women decorate some with ornaments, deceive others with sweet words, and charm the rest with intense emotions. O heart, why are you bewildered b...
These muddy, riverbank lands—buzzing with dragonflies, full of crabs and creepers, and wet with river water—leave impressions on the heart. Their soun...
These cowherd girls, radiant as golden flowers, adorned in colorful garments, with lotus-like faces and playful speech, frolic joyfully in the forest ...
These lands, ravaged by fierce tigers, bear marks of wild battles. Loud with jackals and echoing violence, their fearsome presence reflects nature's u...
The royal women, burdened with pregnancy, seem incapable of fleeing the forest’s danger. As if hearing the fierce roar of a lion like you, O Keshava, ...
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