Longing
The storm is rising and the clouds call to one another in terrible voices,
The air is heavy with coming rain, the lighting runs across the sky
And the soul is nearly fainting with longing for love.
On the roof the peacock is dancing, singing shrill songs in honor of the tempest,
While Rādhā reaches up to it a bowl of meal,
An offering to quiet her heart torn by the absence of her lover.
The air is heavy with coming rain, the lighting runs across the sky
And the soul is nearly fainting with longing for love.
On the roof the peacock is dancing, singing shrill songs in honor of the tempest,
While Rādhā reaches up to it a bowl of meal,
An offering to quiet her heart torn by the absence of her lover.
Content
Rādhā, the beloved, kneels before her cooking, smiling and concentrated,
She has thrown back her long robe from her shoulders, showing the blossoms of her breast,
Her feet on the carpet are tipped with red like lotuses,
Behind her the maid bends over the baskets of vegetables
And from a balcony window the face of Krishna looks down,
And smiles, for the iris-throated pigeons are cooing upon the roofs
And Rādhā, among her pots, is lovely with the thought of love.
She has thrown back her long robe from her shoulders, showing the blossoms of her breast,
Her feet on the carpet are tipped with red like lotuses,
Behind her the maid bends over the baskets of vegetables
And from a balcony window the face of Krishna looks down,
And smiles, for the iris-throated pigeons are cooing upon the roofs
And Rādhā, among her pots, is lovely with the thought of love.
