GOPI`S SORROW
HAR PRASAD SHARMA
Then Gopi`s see her limbs grow cold,
they lift her head and gently hold,
bewildered now, they turn their eyes,
to each other with awe and sighs,
in her cupped hands, one brings water,
while another a leaf of lotus flower,
she sprinkles water over her face,
while fanning her with a leaf, another say,
`get up, dear, get up, our distress,
than yours, in no way, is less,
she raises her head again, but again she lies,
in faltering voice she sorely cries,
` where is he, show me his face,
`my Krishna`
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem