Parthasarathy, my Parthasarathy!!!
When the mind finds itself in distress wallowing,
You, and, You alone are the force guiding:
And, when You as Venugopala play the flute enchanting-
Our souls run to seek Your music endearing.
When the suun multiplies its radiance ten times,
One millionth of Your radiance, maybe i'll find.
Even if the moon were thousand times more serene,
How would it match the charm on Your face seen?
So, don't blame me, my Lord,
As my eyes yearn for the spectacle of spectacles,
My ears yearn for the pinnacle of pinnacles;
And my mind hopes it earns the miracle of miracles!
There, You are, in my Vrindavan,
Playing the flute, enriching my Man-Van;
But alas! here i am stranded
As though an alien abandoned!
Fie not the mind that runs to You,
Vie not my misfortune that i cannot see You,
Buy not i will words that confer patience-
Sigh not i will tilll tor each You, i finish my work with diligence!