Sanskrit Poems Part I

She who is the constant object of my thought
is indifferent to me,
is desirous of another man,
who in his turn adores some other woman,
but this woman takes delight in me.
Damn her, damn him, the god of love,
the other woman, and myself!

---

A face to rival the moon,
eyes that make mockery of lotuses,
complexion ecliping gold`s luster,
thick tresses that shame the black bee,
breasts like elephant`s swelling temples,
heavy hips,
a voice enchanting and soft--
the adornment in maidens is natural.

---

there is no ambrosia or poison
except in the love of an ample-hipped woman;
enamored, she is an ambrosial vine,
indifferent, a poisonous creep.


-Bhartrihari