When will He of the beautiful lotus eyes-
my Shyama visit me?
The booming and red flowers that, with Him
by our side gave us joy-
without Him now burn us like scintillating fire.
What avails it, our going now to gather
flowers in the Garden?
When Hari is not there with us,
Flowers pricks us like thorns.
When I go to Jamuna, my eyes flow in torrents,
and the very waters rise, with these
At times my bed is so covered with tears,
that I could well make a canoe of it and
on it reach my Beloved.
My breath is leaving my lips-Dear One!
come and save me by granting Thy vision.
Thus sing Surdas, the song of gopis.