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With cupped lotus hands, women shower red rice onto their beloved’s chariot, like scattering pearls over a shell. Their gesture is symbolic of welcome...
As her hands mock-battle on his chest, their bangles clash like drums, and the sound of love’s argument turns into poetic music. Love quarrels become ...
She clutches her lover's garment in haste, her waist-string loosened as she sits suddenly. For a moment, her clothing shimmers like gold on a slab, re...
Like the weak sun drawn by gears, your emaciated body still dazzles the eyes—despite resting all night like a scratched fingernail’s edge, your effort...
Though fanned and caressed, the fire still burns. Just like a slanderer, whose inner heat won’t fade no matter the external comfort. Such is the natur...
Princesses of Amaravati craft golden flower garlands, brushing the trees with lotus hands as King Mukunda bathes. Nature becomes ceremonial, love turn...
The sword's flow, Yamuna’s divine waves, and your fame all converge like sacred Saraswati, approaching from afar to bless the poets. You are the sourc...
If the forest king doesn’t cool the scorched earth with his dust-spraying trunk, no elephant will find a path. The leader must serve first for others ...
The sun never feels the pain of wine-induced shame, nor the fall from glory. These are woes only of those who indulge carelessly.
Farmers cast seeds into muddy fields, unseen by friends. But who knows which seed bears fruit? Success often begins in solitude and mud.
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