by Rupanuga Das
O Dear Gopis!
O purest of the Pure
So dear to Krishna,
Who can help you look for Him,
When suddenly He leaves
The Sacred Rasa Dance,
Black Cloud adorned with lightning,
Disappearing in the dark
O Dear Lalita, Visakha,
Kantchenbala, where did He go?
Did you see a hint of gold
Beyond those whispering trees, wet
With the shimmering drops of moonlight?
Watching for soft red sparks of ruby,
For lights of white pearl, always
Searching His Sweet Name,
Krishna, Krishna, Krishna!
Krishna, Krishna, Krishna?
Listening for His maddening Flute, and
The soft step of His Lotus Foot,
Red palm aglow in the quietly loving grass.
Filling your nostrils with the blissful
Cool night breeze, to catch
The warm Fragrance of Him,
Infinitely surpassing the essence
Of blue lotus and honey.
Seeking in every bower’s heart.
Ah, but RADHARANI knows
His hiding place.
Did you pass by the wonderful
Four-Armed Narayan, with
His Mace, Disk, Conch, and Lotus
Who tried with all His Might
To hold His disguise?
Yet two arms kept fading
Before the Glories of Radha’s Love,
Revealing a Beautiful Cowherd Boy,
Smiling, as He raised a flute
To His lips.
—Rupanuga Das Adhikary