On this dark, rainy day, why, oh Krsna,
Stormcloud-complexioned One,[1] will You not arrive?
In the jailhouse of Mathura,
Oh Virtue's Abode, won't You kindle light?
Pasture's milch cows, by Your name are frenzied;
Listening, no more a reed pipe will they hear.
Night won't stay lit brightly
In Nanda's pleasant domicile.
Upon Jamuna's water won't rise a swell;
In the ebon color, anyone to see Yourself?
Amid a heap of tamal trees or in arbor of kadam,
A gopii will not dance all the time.
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In Your absence I cry.
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