Take them off—your noisy anklets;
such jingling betrays a trysting lover;
Into the dense dark forest, my friend,
cloaked in black, go under cover.
By the Yamuna, where the wind wafts winsome,
there in the woods, Krishna rests,
There where once his restless hands
caressed cowherdesses’ curvaceous breasts.

Like a crane hovering over dark clouds,
over his chest a gold necklace will shimmer;
Riding astride Krishna in love, you, golden girl,
like night lightning, deserve to glimmer.
By the Yamuna, where the wind wafts winsome,
there in the woods, Krishna rests,
There where once his restless hands
caressed cowherdesses’ curvaceous breasts.

Lotus-eyed Radha, loosen your sash,
strip off your clothes, bare naked thighs;
On his bed of leaves, your loins will be treasured,
an ample delight for his eyes.
By the Yamuna, where the wind wafts winsome,
there in the woods, Krishna rests,
There where once his restless hands
caressed cowherdesses’ curvaceous breasts.