Sant Surdas (1478 - 1581 / India)
Krishna awake, for the day has dawned:
large, deep and lotus-like,
your eyes are as in the love-shaped lake
a pair of swans even a million Kamadevas cannot vie
with the bewitching beauty of your face;
the sun rises in the east,
a crimson ball the night is going
and the moonlight pales
the lamps turn dim
and the stars fade out
as though the bright radiance of wisdom's rays
dispels the pleasures that the senses tire,
and the light of hope chases away
the murky darkness of despair and doubt.
Listen, the birds sing
aloud with glee O sweet child,
life of my life,
my sole wealth,
O darling boy,
bards and minstrels
sing your praises,
saying 'victory! victory!'
Clusters of lotuses burst into bloom
the bumblebees humming with sweet sound
leave the lotuses;
as though the devout renouncing worldly ties,
in your love drowned
chant your name as they go about.
Hearing his mother's words with love
drenched the Lord of Mercy arose from his bed;
the world's woes vanished,
maya's net was rent.
'Seeing his lotus face delusion fled;
all doubts and dualities were destroyed and I found in Govinda eternal joy.
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