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mira bai's poems : 2

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kalaivani retnavellu • January 26, 2002 


radhe krishna!
namo narayana

dear bhaagavatas,
here is the next part 2 mira bai's poems on kanna.

FOURTH POEM
***********

he rî maim to prema dîvânî, merâ dard na jâne koya
sûlî ûpara seja hamârî, kisa bidha sonâ hoya
gagana maNDala pai seja piyâ kî, kisa bidha milana
hoya
ghâyala kî gati ghâyala jânai, kî jina lâî hoya
jauhar kî gati jauhar jânai, kî jina jauhar hoya
dard kî mârî bana bana Dolûm baida milâ nahim koya
mîrâ kî prabhu pîra miTaigî jaba baida sâmvaliyâ hoya

Oh oh! I'm love-crazy. No one knows my pain.
My bed is over the gallows. How could I sleep?
My lover's bed is in heaven's mandala. How could I get
to him?
The one who is wounded knows what a wound means, what
it means to be burned.
The jeweler knows what it means to be a jeweler, what
it means to have a jewel.
Afflicted by pain, I wander from forest to forest.
Can't get a doctor.
O Lord, Mira's torment will be wiped out when the
doctor is the Dark Lover.


FIFTH POEM
**********

mere to giridhara gupâla, dûsarâ na koî
jâ ke sira mora mukuTa, mero pati soî
tâta, mâta, bhrâta, bandhu, apanâ nahim koî
châRa daî, kula kî kâna, kyâ karegâ koî
santana Dhiga baiThi baiThi, loka lâja khoî
cunarî ke kiyâ Tûka Tûka, oRha lînaha loî
motî mûnge utâra bana mâlâ poî
ansuvana jala sîñci prema beli boî
aba to beli phaila gaĂ®, nanda phala hoĂ®
dûdha kî mathaniyâ baRe prema se biloî
mâkhana jaba kâRhi liyo, châcha piye koî
âî maim bhakti kâja, jagat dekha roî
dâsî mîrâ giridhara premu târe aba moî

Mine is Gopal, the Mountain-Holder; there is no one
else.
On his head he wears the peacock-crown: He alone is my
husband.
Father, mother, brother, relative: I have none to call
my own.
I've forsaken both God, and the family's honor: what
should I do?
I've sat near the holy ones, and I've lost shame
before the people.
I've torn my scarf into shreds; I'm all wrapped up in
a blanket.
I took off my finery of pearls and coral, and strung a
garland of wildwood flowers.
With my tears, I watered the creeper of love that I
planted;
Now the creeper has grown spread all over, and borne
the fruit of bliss.
The churner of the milk churned with great love.
When I took out the butter, no need to drink any
buttermilk.
I came for the sake of love-devotion; seeing the
world, I wept.
Mira is the maidservant of the Mountain-Holder: now
with love He takes me across to the further shore.


lottsa krishna premai
kalaivani
radhe govindaa
namo venkateshaya
hari hari



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