Oh, tortured mothers of Vrindavan,
What dark karma brought you here?
Homeless and Hungry
Cold and weak.
Tired and Alone.
What crime of which birth
Is he absolved by this torture?
This I am left to wonder.
What breaks my heart most
It is the place you live in.
Is this the heavenly abode?
Of that great Gwala?
The songs of whose flute
Moved nature itself.
The one whose face melted hearts
And terrified demons alike.
Who is purity personified?
I think not.
For this ‘divine land’ I see
Is ripe with pain and misery
As if the tyrant of Mathura
Reborn and powerful
Took over it immediately
Once the Gwala took his leave.
For no divine power shall allow
Such pain to remain
Such sorrow to see.
What pain and what agony.
My pity and respect for you, mothers
For in this dark yuga
Suffering is often a sign.
of greatness and divinity.
I hope only that whatever this may be
Tradition or ignorance,
It may be foregone.
So that this cursed world of ours
Might just be an imitation of
Of the great world
When the Gwala still resides
Watching over you and me.
