Dark clouds, Shyam, gather near my home,
Yet, O Dark One, no rain descends from this cloud,
No rain descends.
My thirsty eyes, they yearn, they yearn,
No rain descends.
Dark clouds, Shyam, gather near my home.
Across my face, a traitor flute does play,
While Radha dwells within my heart's deep way,
A traitor flute.
Oh, friend, why words of spite you speak?
Oh, friend, why words of spite you speak?
My body's tale, you weigh it not,
You weigh it not, the traitor's words you heed,
My clay I sold, and mingled with the form,
A palace of colors, I mistook my life,
With birth and death, I played the Holi game,
Each pore, each part, ablaze with fire,
Each vein, the light, I cast away,
Each vein, the light, I cast away,
From my heart's shore, I cast out grime,
Then, at last, my fortune woke,
Oh, friend, my fortune woke,
Then, at last, my fortune woke,
And sought the Dark One's face.
I am not the flute, nor Radha I,
Not the flute, nor Radha I,
Within me, form and color bind,
My boat, on what shore does it long?
No rain descends.
Dark clouds, Shyam, gather near my home.
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