Friend, the arrow of his glance struck
clouds of the monsoon,
a delight to this feverish heart.
Season of rain,
That dark Dweller in Braj
Is my only refuge.
O my companion,
Worldly comfort is an illusion,
Life in the world is short,
Why shoulder an unnecessary load
Of worldly relationships?
Thy parents gave thee birth in the world,
Come to my pavilion, O my King.
I have spread a bedmade of
delicately selected buds and blossoms,
And have arrayed myself in bridal garb
Mine Is Gopal
Mine is Gopal, the Mountain-Holder; there is no one else.
On his head he wears the peacock-crown: He alone is my husband.
Father, mother, brother, relative: I have none to call my own.
Mine is the lifter of mountains, the
cowherd, and none other.
The dagger of love has pierced my heart.
I was going to the river to fetch water,
A golden pitcher on my head.
Hariji has bound me
Something has reached out and taken in the beams of my eyes.
There is a longing, it is for his body, for every hair of that dark body.
All I was doing was being, and the Dancing Energy came by my house.