Aju Vipine Yaota Kana

Today Krishna goes to the forest, his form itself the very image of Cupid's arrow; his dark limbs are lovely as a raincloud, his every gesture graceful as a master dancer. His moon-face smiles gently, his eyes cast their glance like a snare for young women; on his bimba-red lips the flute plays, enchanting the three worlds.

Flowers are woven into his thick locks of hair, and on every side bees hum around him; his crown is fashioned of peacock feathers, and his makara-shaped earrings swing to and fro. His restless eyes move like a pair of khanjana birds, ever turning toward his ear; a garland of gems shines beautifully, and a string of pearls sways at his chest.

At his waist a yellow cloth tied with tinkling bells, his gait as proud and stately as the king of elephants; a garland of kadamba flowers hangs down to where drunken bees wander about it. His lotus feet are reddish in hue, outshining even the rising sun's rays; Govinda Dasa says he delights the heart, calling out sweetly like a graceful cat-eyed one.