Part Ten: Four-Armed Krishna

 

And then so gentle at her tears and rage
he brought a brightness to her ravaged face:
in joy and modesty a friend to her,
so Hari, stammering that evening, said:

Nineteenth Song

 

A little even of your glowing teeth
dispels my gloominess, as comes the moon's
rich nectar trembling from your lower lip
to salve my longing in chakora eyes.

My love, you have no cause to curse me so:
I ask, as this fierce passion burns my mind,
for nectar's sweetness in that lotus mouth.

If you, with teeth so beautiful, are truly
angry, claw at me with arrow nails,
bind, fetter me with arms, and with your teeth,
attack whatever happiness you find.

My love, you have no cause to curse me so:
I ask, as this fierce passion burns my mind,
for nectar's sweetness in that lotus mouth.

You are my ornament, my breath, my world,
my jewel in the endless sea of life:
that you at last will yield to me I make
perpetually the motive of this heart.

My love, you have no cause to curse me so:
I ask, as this fierce passion burns my mind,
for nectar's sweetness in that lotus mouth.

As blue lotuses your eyes, that show
the red of water lilies, slender Rádhá:
those barbs that strike my body in their fiery
passion find the darkness of your eyes.

My love, you have no cause to curse me so:
I ask, as this fierce passion burns my mind,
for nectar's sweetness in that lotus mouth.

May gems which, trembling, hang beneath the pitcher
breasts entreat those quarters of the heart,
and girdle zone that circles those strong hips
obey the murmuring of the love-god there.

My love, you have no cause to curse me so:
I ask, as this fierce passion burns my mind,
for nectar's sweetness in that lotus mouth.

Outshine the flared hibiscus, soft-voiced one,
and let me paint your feet with pale red lac,
that you in amorous disporting place
a shining harmony about my heart.

My love, you have no cause to curse me so:
I ask, as this fierce passion burns my mind,
for nectar's sweetness in that lotus mouth.

Place as ornament upon my head,
to slake the love god's venom, your soft feet,
and douse the tawny-embered fire of passion
that all too pitiless still burns in me.

My love, you have no cause to curse me so:
I ask, as this fierce passion burns my mind,
for nectar's sweetness in that lotus mouth.

In words so sweet so pungent and so pleasing
Mura's enemy addresses Rádhá:
so the poet Jayadeva, wins
his joy in eloquence of Sarasvatí.

My love, you have no cause to curse me so:
I ask, as this fierce passion burns my mind,
for nectar's sweetness in that lotus mouth.

* * *

How can there be, with spreading breasts and heavy
haunches, latitude for someone else?
In me alone, and bodiless, embracing
you, the love god holds you in his heart.

Confuse, compress me in those urgent breasts,
bind hard your arms about me, and, like Durga,
have the rage of teeth and five-fold arrows
tear in love the life-breath out of me.

Alarm the young men with those serpent-sooted
eyebrows frowning on a moon-like face:
and devastate them where the antidote
is that sweet nectar spilling from your lip.

Needlessly your silence hurts me: sing
and cure my fevered longing with a glance.
Do not withdraw your graciousness from one
whose true bewilderment shines forth his love.

Bandúka are your lips, Madúka cheeks,
your nose the Sesame, white Jasmine teeth
the lotus glances: so the flower-weaponed
god in worshipping has conquered all.

Your eyes so drugged with love, the moon your face,
and thighs as plantains moving, charm the races;
pleasing's skilful, and the brow-line's bright:
you lead all heavenly women here on earth.

 

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