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POEMS OF SURDAS translated by Professor John Stratton Hawley

Look, my friend, look at Hari's nimble eyes.
How could the shimmer of lotuses and fish,
even of darting wagtails,
compare in charm with this?

When for a brilliant blink of time his hands
and face and eyes bow down to the flute-
they all become as one-

It seems the lotus no longer wars with the moon:
together they sound a note to soothe
those lunar steeds, the deer.

Look at that beauty: slender, mind-entrancing curls,
how they ramble uncontrolled
over eyebrow's just below
And startle the deer, it seems: they flee their chariot
till the moon with a tremor of worry
moves to tighten its reins, the brows.

Hari is a mirroring, the image of all desire;
for him the women of Braj are offering
their wealth-that is their life.

They look with loss and longing at the face of Sur's Dark Lord.
With him to fill their thoughts, their minds
have nowhere else to roam.