May be it was the shape of his beloved's favourite beast
Bent down to butt a riverbed that inspired him to poesy.
May be it was the memory of his lover's sandalwood body
Or the grief of separation from her that made him sing so.
Whatever the reason might have been for him to compose,
He thought of her long hair without adornments or flowers
Drawn together in a single sweep in the long absent months,
He sang this musical erotic message promising rejuvenation.
He thought of her beauty that made him err in his daily duties,
The early hours of the morning when he spent hours with her,
Which he didn't want to forsake and plucked the holy lotuses,
Which he plucked before time to get punished for a long year.
When the rainclouds burst on her, he wants her to see his love
All written in the eight months of longing, just to be with her!