Lost, lost, lost to Mohan’s captivating image!
Lost to his earrings,
lost to his eyes so vast,
Lost to his eyebrows, lost to his splendid forehead mark,
lost to Murali, his flute,
lost to her fluid sound,
Lost to the locks of his hair, lost to his splendid turban,
lost to his cheeks,
lost to the wildflower garland on his chest,
Lost to the vision that captivated Brahma and the gods,
lost to the shawl on the shoulders
of that lovely Mountain-Lifter,
Lost to those arms, around the necks of his friends:
lost to the way that beautiful Shyam
walks with his clan,
Lost to the yellow cloth he’s cinched around his thighs—
Surdas says, I’m lost to Madan Gopal,
that intoxicating cowherd lad.
— bali bali bali mohana mUrati kI bali kuNDala bali naina bisAla, by the sixteenth-century bhakti poet Surdas, who wrote in Braj Bhasha
Source: Surdas, and John Stratton Hawley. The Memory of Love: Surdas Sings to Krishna. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2009. Print.