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mira bai's poems : 2

From: kalaivani retnavellu (kalaivani4krishna_at_hotmail.com)
Date: Sat Jan 26 2002 - 01:48:47 PST

radhe krishna!
namo narayana

dear bhaagavatas,
here is the next part 2 mira bai's poems on kanna.

FOURTH POEM
***********

he r maim to prema dvn, mer dard na jne koya
sl para seja hamr, kisa bidha son hoya
gagana maNDala pai seja piy k, kisa bidha milana
hoya
ghyala k gati ghyala jnai, k jina l hoya
jauhar k gati jauhar jnai, k jina jauhar hoya
dard k mr bana bana Dolm baida mil nahim koya
mr k prabhu pra miTaig jaba baida smvaliy hoya

Oh oh! I'm love-crazy. No one knows my pain.
My bed is over the gallows. How could I sleep?
My lover's bed is in heaven's mandala. How could I get
to him?
The one who is wounded knows what a wound means, what
it means to be burned.
The jeweler knows what it means to be a jeweler, what
it means to have a jewel.
Afflicted by pain, I wander from forest to forest.
Can't get a doctor.
O Lord, Mira's torment will be wiped out when the
doctor is the Dark Lover.


FIFTH POEM
**********

mere to giridhara gupla, dsar na ko
j ke sira mora mukuTa, mero pati so
tta, mta, bhrta, bandhu, apan nahim ko
chRa da, kula k kna, ky kareg ko
santana Dhiga baiThi baiThi, loka lja kho
cunar ke kiy Tka Tka, oRha lnaha lo
mot mnge utra bana ml po
ansuvana jala sci prema beli bo
aba to beli phaila ga, nanda phala ho
ddha k mathaniy baRe prema se bilo
mkhana jaba kRhi liyo, chcha piye ko
 maim bhakti kja, jagat dekha ro
ds mr giridhara premu tre aba mo

Mine is Gopal, the Mountain-Holder; there is no one
else.
On his head he wears the peacock-crown: He alone is my
husband.
Father, mother, brother, relative: I have none to call
my own.
I've forsaken both God, and the family's honor: what
should I do?
I've sat near the holy ones, and I've lost shame
before the people.
I've torn my scarf into shreds; I'm all wrapped up in
a blanket.
I took off my finery of pearls and coral, and strung a
garland of wildwood flowers.
With my tears, I watered the creeper of love that I
planted;
Now the creeper has grown spread all over, and borne
the fruit of bliss.
The churner of the milk churned with great love.
When I took out the butter, no need to drink any
buttermilk.
I came for the sake of love-devotion; seeing the
world, I wept.
Mira is the maidservant of the Mountain-Holder: now
with love He takes me across to the further shore.


lottsa krishna premai
kalaivani
radhe govindaa
namo venkateshaya
hari hari



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