A fire You went on lighting
At the palash grove in this month of spring.
And in a niche of mind secretly,
Who knows why, You brightened with abir.
Your crimson-colored mind
You depleted at this time.
At whose garden of paradise
In song a line of parrots is frenzied by melody?
Hearing tune, in a room psyche does not stay;
Exuberant the heart became.
At this time Vraja's Kanu[1] came,
In a Spring month under mind's canopy.
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At the advent of spring, do we hear Krsna's flute?
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