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The soft, wind-swayed kalama reeds, fragrant from their roots, quietly boast their scent like modest scholars.
From the end of a pen’s ink drop, the queen’s fortune is robbed by sly scribes—she weeps like a wronged woman.
O poet! Describe the beauty of beloveds in crystal forests with lotus hands touching their mirrored cheeks.
She compares her eyes to lotuses and speech to nectar—but her patience is the true flaw that led to pain.
A tree always bears fruit generously because it knows not even enemies are excluded from its shade—pure selflessness.
Her curled glances string together like blue-lotus garlands; her lips, delicate as leaf play, reveal the moon of her artful grace.
Passion burns like fire, transforming heart and body into a smoldering bed, while desire clouds the eyes—Manmatha torments me.
Let the foolish crane mimic the elegant swan’s gait, but it lacks the wisdom to separate milk from water.
Adorn your braided hair with garlands, apply musk on your cheeks, dear friend—your beloved arrives at dawn.
Why study sweet grammar now, friend? Let us spar in witty wordplay and defeat one another with clever repartee.
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