Текст песни Бхакти Вигьяна Госвами - Баллада о сумасшедшей торговке фруктами

Bhakti Vijnana Goswami Maharaj
The Ballad of tradeswoman fruit that has gone mad

In Mathura, rich in Mathura
where there is poor and unfortunate,
sick, poor and orphaned,
I lived a young vendor,
cheerful, like a stream. She walked around the city
with a basket on her head
and loudly shouted: & quot; Fruits,
ripe, fresh, juicy,
mangoes, bananas, dates,
fit most people,
fresh, ripe fruit,
buy more soon! & quot;

And the people came together to the voice,
zvenevshy as a bell.
Fresh, juicy apples,
mango, fruit kadamba,
pomegranates and grapes
lying in the basket loose,
pearls and emeralds,
sapphires and chrysolites,
playing in the sun
Fire thousand lights ..

She handed out to people
all that was in the basket,
and happy to come back,
holding coins in his hand.

In the morning her song again
catechumens yards Mathura
where people do not know grief
and the glory of their king.

People loved her
and he loved the song,
They are smiling on sight.
And she loved them too,
giving a smile in return.

***
So quietly rolled time
in Mathura, where honey and gold
as much as the sun in the summer,
as the snow in the Himalayan mountains,
in Shravan in the Ganges water,
yet, unfortunately il happiness,
someone told her
son of the king of Gokula,
country shepherds and cows.

There is no one more beautiful
Damodara, Madhava, Krishna.
His eyes are like two lotus
and hair - like a swarm of bees.

Here he runs away from Yasoda,
panting, stumbling,
fearing that it will punish,
bound him with rope.

In the eyes of his own tears.
Yashoda hides a smile
and threatened him with a stick:
& quot; Oh, you little thief,
still I catch you! & quot;

There is no one happier
Yashoda, a simple shepherdess,
When she looks at Krishna
when she milks Harini,
or cbivaet oil
and their song sings:

& quot; Damodara, Madhava, Krishna,
Hari, mischievous cunning,
Keshava smuglokozhih,
My clumsy dancer,
favorite child of Gokula,
Thief oil and yogurt,
Sapphire in a frame of gold,
the best friend of the monkeys and crows & quot ;.

& quot; See would at least for a moment,
dancing like a little Krishna,
He laughs and plays pranks,
as the parrot talks,
like crying, just what is wrong,
as t ruchonkami eyes,
like ruffles thick hair
as the finger faces, frowning,
or twist the tail of a calf.

Moment, just a moment,
I do not need more -
It makes me wait in Mathura
where people are so fond of me & quot ;.

Since then she has often
Gokula - way to the future -
with a basket of fruit and its:
& quot; Take mango and dates,
bananas, fresh, ripe,
take more people ... & quot; -
still she cried.

This is the house of a rich Nanda,
Home shepherds and shepherdesses,
village, some a lot:
cows graze peacefully,
Yamuna carries its waters.

Everyone here is familiar,
as everywhere else - nothing special.
Only time flows differently here
Only thought otherwise flow.

& quot; Bananas, bananas, dates! & quot; -
still rang her voice,
but the heart of the song was not,
were far from her thoughts:

& quot; Where are You, Krishna, where are you?
When can i see you?
Just once to look furtively
son of the king of Gokula,
Just once, I no longer need.
See and back to Mathura
where people are tired of waiting for me & quot ;.

But Krishna was playing with friends,
in the shed fiddling with her calf,
on the banks of the Yamuna temnovodnoy
sand to build castles
or slept under Yashoda song,
lulled by her kindness.

With him this vendor,
its bananas and dates?
He's busy, he's too busy,
to busy to come.

***
Sometimes she noticed:
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
Quickly, so that no one saw
She wiped them away
and I thought: & quot; What's wrong with me?
Why do I cry all the time?
Why is heart ache?
Why steel legs with cotton?
I do not understand what's going on with me & quot ;.

Her heart sank
plangent cries of peacocks,
When storm clouds
blёkloe dimmed the sky,
When the bell rang
or hear children