A gunshot wound may strike and pass, but once these eyes strike, no other eye can ever please. (3)
Once those eyes strike, home and family are abandoned, though mother and father grieve to hear of it. Renunciation rises, pain grows twofold, and sorrow alone pervades. Arrows may fly, swords may slash, and spears may strike while one still stands firm upon the earth; even a bullet wound may be endured, but no one's eyes inflict a wound like those eyes. (4)
How many connoisseurs, steeped in rasa, have lost themselves within it and burned their homes behind them! How many travelers, seeing that lovely radiance, have forgotten their road in the market lanes! How many have gone to their graves, slain by a smile and a single glance! Darling, if you were to become Rama-lala, thousands would lose their heads. (5)
Your lovely dark body is a vine of love, stealing the hearts of all who behold it. I am defeated by those great eyes of yours and their crooked, sidelong glance. Poets and guardians of beauty lose themselves before the sweetness of your bending, heart-twisting form. Darling, if you were to become Rama-lala, tens of millions would lose their heads. (6)
What comparison can be offered for the beauty of that dark body? What learned poet could describe it? Even Sharada, Shesha, and Mahesha possess no power to sing it fully. Seeing the sweetness of Avadhesha's form, the sun itself is covered like a cloud in the rains. Darling, if you were to become Rama-lala, hundreds of thousands would lose their heads. (7)
In all the worlds there is no comparison equal to that beauty. The Vedas grow weary describing its glory; even the thousand-mouthed Shesha reaches his limit. Lakshmi, Rati, and lightning—all their splendor is shamed before it. O companion, accept my surrender and look upon me with a smile. (8)
Listen, Sri Mithilesha's Daughter: hold this one prayer within your heart. If I have faults, tell them to Raghubara—but do not have me driven away from his presence.