Thiruvadipuram

Bring me His things

To the sight of that black God called Kannan
I am an addict;
Don't stand aside and mock at me
Pouring acid on my wound:
Take from the waist of that great Lord
To whom a woman's woe is nothing
His yellow cloth, and cool with it
The fever which burns me.

I was caught in the net of that great Lord
Who slept on a banyan leaf;
Don't drill holes in me with a spear
By saying whatever you please;
From him who danced with a pot on his head
Driving his cows  with a crook,
Bring the cool green basil and deck with it
My soft and wavy hair!

Shot through my heart by Kamsa's killer
With a plumed dart his eye from a dark bow
If he would console me burning and lost
With just one phrase "Dont Fear"
And send me beside not holding me back,
The garland he wears on his chest.
Take it from him and bring it with you
To put it on my chest.

Who in this wide world can console
Me unstrung and broken
By that black bull of the cattle yard
Who Lord is overall?
Bring me the nectar which never sates
From his ambrosial mouth:
Don't let it go dry, O feed me with it,
And make me get well.

O he who will not show himself
Whether i weep or adore,
Will never say, "Don't fear, clip or clasp
Whirl me round and around,-
If in the grove, behind his heard,
You hear his divine flute,
Bring the moisture from its holes
And cool my face with it!

In this lawless world I lie,
trampled by the hoof
Of one Nandagopan's son,
a cruel and wicked God!
I cannot turn, I cannot stir-
If you can get the dust
From under his feet, O bring it,
For my long dying life!

In this world which must obey
The Lord with the Garuda flag,
What a shame that a mother should bear
A useless neem fruit son.
Bind my innocent chest
to his shoulders like palm trees
so that the guilt of his betrayal
Is atoned by that bond.

If I should meet with Govardhan
Who cares not if she lives or is dead
who only melts and is worn out
all for that mischievous bandit's love,
I will pluck my useless love
From their roots and fling them
On his chest, and so put out
the ranging fire in my bosom

If through menial service now
I cannot gain Govinda's love
And quench the ardour of my breasts
What use of future penance?
It is well if he embrace me now
But speaking one day face to face
If he can only bid good bye
that too will be very good.

Kodai whose brow no bow can match,
Puttur Vishnuchittan's daughter,
made these verses in her craze
For that jewelled lamp of the cowherd clan
who wrought such mischief with his pranks.
those who can recite them well
Will never flounder in a sea of sorrow.