Who is it on the magical flute
from beneath the kadamba tree?
Blowing it, He stole away
my heart's glittering gold.
Listening to its mellowed song
rocks melt away, withered twigs
merrily dance with new foliage.
And listening to it my eyes do away with sleep.
Listening to its sorcerous songs
the mild Yamuna goes wild,
and her multicoloured trouts
wince on the bank's unkind bosom.
Will there be no meeting
of my Lord with His hearts priceless gem?
Thus prays Salabega,
the down-trodden, the lowborn.