Sacisunvastakam

Hari, having seen in a mirror His own incomparable form in the cowherd village, wishing to taste His own sweetness by becoming Radha's most beloved gopi-friend -- ah, that very Lord took birth in Gauda, assuming a uniquely golden body. When will that son of Saci again cross the path of my eyes?

Sweetened again and again, bathed in the nectar of Puri's inner love; His feet ever worshiped by Govinda's pure and constant service; His face waved with lamps by Svarupa in an offering of a hundred million lives -- when will that son of Saci again cross the path of my eyes?

Wearing a loincloth and, over it, a reddish outer cloth, His tall form served on all sides, glowing like a golden mountain, joyfully singing aloud His own sweet holy names -- when will that son of Saci again cross the path of my eyes?

That which was unknown even to the ancient sages skilled in devotion -- the hidden fruit of the Vedas, the shining mellow of love, the creeper of devotion -- the compassionate Lord revealed in Gauda through His boundless mercy. When will that son of Saci again cross the path of my eyes?

Accepting the Gaudiyas of this world as His very own, the Lord, like a father instructing His children, taught them essentially this: "Chant in this way, counting Hare Krishna!" When will that son of Saci again cross the path of my eyes?

Gazing upon the Lord of Nilacala, His tall, radiant form bathed by the tears streaming from His eyes in abundant love, ever standing at His beloved place beside the Garuda-pillar -- when will that son of Saci again cross the path of my eyes?

Joyfully biting His lip, sweeter than the radiance of the bandhuka flower, one hand resting on His hip while the other swings freely, rising up with hairs standing on end from love, eager to dance -- when will that son of Saci again cross the path of my eyes?

Tormented by separation from the moon of Gokula while resting on the riverbank, turning it into another river with the ceaseless streams of tears from His eyes, again and again falling into a swoon, making the whole world seem as if dead with grief -- when will that son of Saci again cross the path of my eyes?

Whoever, with a mind ever purified through deep humility, recites this cherished astaka about the son of Saci -- Lord Caitanya, overwhelmed by His own boundless mercy, fully immerses that person in the vast, celebrated ocean of love.