In this same gloom-filled rainy season,
My mind goes on floating with a cloudy-green complexion,
Like sweet beauty of a bamboo flute's arbor.
That Beloved, won't He come, won't He play a reed pipe;
Won't He sway a heart with Jamuna waters of pastime?
On the octave won't a lyre with its jingling sound excite,
And by even just one person does this get labeled love?
Outside, the rain exudes a sleep-breaking tune;
Unseen by all, at home my eyes effuse.
Drenched by a tear-stream, mid whole world in solitude,
Who looks afresh in my direction!
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Not just in spring glee but also amid monsoon gloom, through my tears I witness Krsna.
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