Sweet one, I find no peace—where shall I go, and to whom shall I tell how those eyes torment me? Day and night the cruel arrows of those tyrannical eyes ache within me. (3)
Eyes full of passion and intoxicating rasa send arrows sharp as swords. They strike the heart, and a dreadful cry arises. A terrible cry arises; the wound cannot be contained within the body. Home and family are forgotten, and nothing else pleases the mind. One staggers sweetly and speaks in broken, bewildered words— marvelous, cruel, overpowering, mighty hunter-eyes! (4)
Savaiyā
The source of bliss is not in sugar candy, nor in grapes, nor in the taste of butter. Bliss is not found by keeping anything in the heart, nor in smiling, teasing, or sweet speech. O learned and clever ones, you may speak of happiness in a hundred thousand ways; if there is happiness anywhere, its one true dwelling is a glimpse of the beloved darling's eyes. (1)
Only the one who has suffered it knows; everyone else laughs at another's pain. Once the beloved pierces the heart, a million remedies cannot draw the barb out. When even a tiny grain falls into the eye, the pain leaves no patience at all; how then can there be peace, dear friend, when an entire image has entered and will not come out? (2)
When glances clash even once, the desperate heart finds the very thing it seeks. Helpless, the mind comes and falls into the snare; before the virtues of those eyes, self-control cannot prevail. Seeing the collyrium, the unstained heart surges with love.