O Krsna of Vraja,
playing the flute,
what for have You come today?

My mental river Yamuna does not dance any more with melody and rhythm.
It lies buried under a crowd of inert matter.

There is no grave of Vrindavan.
High buildings surround my mind.
The sweetness that arose from seeing You
when You stood below the kadamba tree,
is no longer.

My river Yamuna today has shrunk.
There is no soothing shade of banyan trees.
The dark charm of tamal trees prevails under the lap of dark clouds.
I wonder whether the moon-like Krsna
remains hidden due to a prolonged lapse of time.