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Quarrel, separation, mad speech, and dramatic love-making—this is the decadent path of an adulteress, not pure love.
Homes fall after quarrels, friendships break with harsh words, kingdoms end in misrule, and fame fades with evil acts.
Fools fight asking “Who will be king tomorrow?”—but in the same night, death may seize them.
I bow to that lunar digit on Shiva’s head, which elevated him above all, becoming king of the three worlds.
All potencies and creators are but fractions of Vishnu. Krishna is the Supreme Personality himself.
Those adorned with arts but ungrateful to benefactors are not noble—just as peacocks aren’t without sweetness.
As time races, the motion of instants is imperceptible—like the flame’s movement in a lamp.
His dark, enchanting form and flute-song agitate the world—may Gopijanavallabha bless you with divine beauty.
Like a lover—adorned with tender passion—he kisses the neck, cheeks, and breasts with moonlike grace.
Gaining one digit of the moon makes you proud, O Moon! But behold—he now seeks to possess the third!
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