“Why doesn’t Krishna come to me right now?”
She asks me, her friend, as if I’d know somehow.
Radha woefully awaits you, Lord Krishna,
in her hideaway.

“Krishna has arrived,” she then cries aloud,
Hugging and kissing the darkness, nothing but a cloud;
Radha woefully awaits you, Lord Krishna,
in her hideaway.

She moans, she weeps, her composure melts away;
She’s ready to receive you, and yet you still delay;
Radha woefully awaits you, Lord Krishna,
in her hideaway.

May connoisseurs of poetry enjoy aesthetic bliss
When, listening to my poetry, they hear a song like this.
Radha woefully awaits you, Lord Krishna,
in her hideaway.

6.10

“Her skin bristles, hysterical, she moans and babbles,
befuddled and depressed;
All because of you, cheater that you are,
The doe-eyed girl is out of her mind
with extravagant passion,
entranced in meditation on you,
and drowning in an ocean of love.”