Narsinh Mehta Poems

Cold, cold is my bed in winter!But for my
Lord, who will embrace me passionately?
Cold, cold is my bed in winter!
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Always up to some prank, this mischievous little Govindji over there
It's always I who has to suffer!
As this little cowherd foolishly totters, the girl becomes fervid!
Always up to some prank, this mischievous little Govindji over there
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`Leave this river full of lotuses, child
You might wake up our master fast asleep.
He will definitely not spare you if he wakes
Moreover, the sin of murdering a mere child will be on our heads!
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Be still, be still, O moon, do not make the dawn yet,
The life of my life has come to my home!
It is after hundreds of millions of lives of penance,
That I have attained my Vitthal, my love!
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Speak only as godlike of the man who feels another's pain
Who shares another's sorrow and pride does disdain
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Has your heart turned to stone, love?
The breast-fruits can’t be gifted to anyone just like that!
For by being close to the heart they give pleasure;
They give pain if they are to go away.
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My fruit-like breasts are your possessions, my love
How can they be offered to anyone else?
Come once to my home and I will tell you more, by dear admirer!
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You may have obtained nama, but without Rama
Your title of Vaishnava is barren like a cradle in a childless home
Or a marriage procession without groom!
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Awake O Jadava, O Krishna the cowherd!
Who will take the cows to graze?
When hundreds of cowherds come thronging
Who will be their leader?
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The flute resonates today! The flute resonates today!
The women dance with the lord, dance, and sing as they play!
The flute resonates today!
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