These songs! Oh, what a wonder!
Reflect me like a mirror
without as much a shimmer,
Oh my! More than a drop of tear!
Reflect me like a mirror
without as much a shimmer,
Oh my! More than a drop of tear!
Read this only if you have nothing else to do but note down the angle subtended by the sun (or the moon) at your eye every two minutes.
This blog has no copyright. So, with respect to anything you find here, you are free to reproduce, distribute, interpret, misinterpret, distort, garble, do what you like, even claim authorship, without my consent or the permission of anybody.
Did you not hear alternate twittering birds making loud noises,
Did you not hear the loud sound of white conch,
From the temple of the king of Garuda,
Oh, girls please wake up,
Did you not hear, Oh slow witted girl,
The twittering sound of black birds of the morn,
Which sounds like a talk between them,
Did you not hear the tingling sound,
When the big and small coin like pendants,
Rub against each other,
Did you not hear the sound of vigorous pull,
Of the curd churner being pulled,
By the flower bedecked cow herdesses,
Did you not hear the sound of twirling curd,
When churned using the mixer,
Oh, leader among girls, How can you sleep,
When they sing the names sweetly.
Of Narayana and Kesava,
The eastern sky has become white,
The buffalo's are free to walk and graze,
The remaining lasses, have stopped from going,
All those who wanted to go,
And have come to call you,
Oh girl filled with happiness, Please wake up.
Oh my uncle’s daughter, who sleeps,
In the soft cotton bed,
In the pearl filled Villa,
Well lit from all sides,
And full of the smoke of incense,
Please open the ornamental door.
Oh aunt, why don’t you wake her up,
Is your daughter dumb or deaf, Or down right lazy,
Or she is in trance of deep pleasurable sleep,
Oh lady fine, who has entered the heaven,
Due to penance done in last birth,
Won’t you reply,please
Won’t you open the door,please
If we pray the God Narayana,
Having with him the scented garland,
Made of holy basil,
He would give us gifts, many,
He is the same who is holy in times ancient,
Sent Kumbhakarna to his death,
After beating him in the field of war.
Did that ogre give you his sleep,
Oh daughter of the cattle baron,
Who milks herds of cows,
And wages war on enemies
And makes his enemies loose their strength,
Oh Golden tendril, Oh lass who has the mount of venus,
Like the hood of the snake, Wake up and come,
When your flock of friends,
Have come to your courtyard, And sing of Krishna,
Who has the colour of the cloud, Oh rich, rich lady,
How can you neither move nor talk, And lie in deep trance,
Hey, sister of the rich one, who owned,
The mooing she buffalo with a calf,
Which took pity on the calf,
And gave out plenty,
Of milk to it through its udder,
And made his courtyard slushy with milk,
We are assembled in thine yard,
In the dripping fog, And sing about Him,
Who killed in anger the king of Southern Lanka,
And who is very dear one,
But open your mouth, you don’t..
At least wake up now,
Why this very deep slumber,
The lasses have reached,
The place of prayer for Pavai,
Singing the fame of our Lord.
Who killed the ogre who came like a stork.
And who cut off the heads of the bad ogre, One by one.
The venus has risen in the morn,
The Jupiter has vanished from the sky,
The birds are making lot of sound,
Of beautiful one with wide eyes red as a flower.
Without taking bath by dipping
again and again in ice cold water,
Would you prefer to sleep.
In the pond in the backyard of your house.
The lily in the ponds have opened,
The night flowers have closed,
The white toothed sages,
Who wear clothes as red as,
The powder of brick, Are going to their temples.
To sound the conch.
You who promised to wake us up, Please wake up,
“Hey, little bird, Are you still sleeping? ”