Hanta… dear Lord of Sri Rädhä

Once again, I come to you crying!

You say, why, when all things are available to you!

Look around, trees, rocks, flowers, stones, grains,

Folks of all sorts and indeed my own smile, all-pervading!

I am blind, I say, all I see is despair in these dark covid days,

Like black bears stalking me in the foresr of Himalia way.

You laugh, o dear one, those creatures are in in fact my pets,

Who gather ‘round mountainous spots to dance with those,

who play the sarod, the flute, the mrdanga and heavenly -stringed-lutes,

As such, why not pick up your instrument and bring those you fear close,

And see the most charming festival, right under your nose, as they say!

Smell the lotus, taste the bliss, dance the phalka of joy viz. Hers, Hits and Its

And rest within the repose of vishranti Then smell the rose of Braj-Dhaman-änandi!