Krishna Wanting The Moon
Mother, the moon I want as my toy.
I will roll on the floor,
Not come to your lap,
Nor have my hair-braid combed.
No longer will I be your child
I will only be Nand baba's boy.
Listen son, come to me
There's a secret from bal we can hide.
Hiding her smile, Yasoda said,
I'll give you a brand new bride.
Quick then, Mother, I swear by you
A wedding is what I'd like.
poem by Sant Surdas
Added by Poetry Lover
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