Somehow having spent the night's long watches,
in the morning, and still stung with arrows,
with him in front of her, conciliatory
and bowing even, angrily she said:
With eyes still reddened from a wakeful night,
would you in condenscension offer me
a look belated as your sluggish love?
I ask you, Hari, speak no lying words,
nor, Madhava, to make those eyes at me.
Be off, the pair of you, Keshava, Krishna:
following me will only add to grief.
Besmirched by kissing of her lampblack lids,
your morning lips are marked with that deep hue
which is the colour, Krishna, of your shape.
I ask you, Hari, speak
no lying words,
nor, Madhava, to make those eyes at me.
Be off, the pair of you, Keshava, Krishna:
following me will only add to grief.
How harsh love's battle your scratched body shows:
the nailmarks driven as dark emerald bits
that write your victory in their gleaming strokes.
I ask you, Hari, speak
no lying words,
nor, Madhava, to make those eyes at me.
Be off, the pair of you, Keshava, Krishna:
following me will only add to grief.
At heart and printed on your belly go
the trail of pale lac feet: the tree of love
displays—how charmingly!— its train of leaves.
I ask you, Hari, speak
no lying words,
nor, Madhava, to make those eyes at me.
Be off, the pair of you, Keshava, Krishna:
following me will only add to grief.
For me her tooth mark on your lip is pain.
By that you'd urge, and urge compellingly,
I merge that splendid body into mine?
I ask you, Hari, speak
no lying words,
nor, Madhava, to make those eyes at me.
Be off, the pair of you, Keshava, Krishna:
following me will only add to grief.
Your mind is blacker than your colour, Krishna,
to lead astray the followers brought down
unequally with fevers of the heart.
I ask you, Hari, speak
no lying words,
nor, Madhava, to make those eyes at me.
Be off, the pair of you, Keshava, Krishna:
following me will only add to grief.
Why would your lordship wander in the woods
to prey on foolish women there, suck out
their life as from the demoness Putana?
I ask you, Hari, speak
no lying words,
nor, Madhava, to make those eyes at me.
Be off, the pair of you, Keshava, Krishna:
following me will only add to grief.
So Jayadeva of a girl deceived,
and wailing. Sages listen: not in Heaven
even is there sweetness heard as this.
I ask you, Hari, speak
no lying words,
nor, Madhava, to make those eyes at me.
Be off, the pair of you, Keshava, Krishna:
following me will only add to grief.
* * *
My love is on the roads: your chest displays
the decoration of her red-lac feet:
my swollen heart is broken by some cheat,
and worse than grieving is the shame I feel.