7.5

Vacant my body, the home of my soul;
it would be better to die than to survive,
Driven mad in his absence while the flames of this love
burn me alive;
Fooled by friends’ false promises,
to whom can I turn now for refuge?

Oh, the sweet vernal night makes me depressed,
As by Krishna some other loving woman’s blessed;
Fooled by friends’ false promises,
to whom can I turn now for refuge?

I’m offended by my jewelry, oh, this ornamentation
Aglow with fierce fires of love in separation;
Fooled by friends’ false promises,
to whom can I turn now for refuge?

My fragile flesh is wounded by the garland over my heart,
Each flower as lethal as Love’s most deadly dart.
Fooled by friends’ false promises,
to whom can I turn now for refuge?

Here I stay, ignoring all the forest reeds I see,
And Krishna, in his heart, has not a thought of me.
Fooled by friends’ false promises,
to whom can I turn now for refuge?