On one midnight in a winter, the young lad, that Darling Krishna, stood reclining across the trunk of a tree in the banks of Yamuna started playing his flute. The Gopis, Gopas, the cows of Gokula and all the moving and unmoving beings around forgot themselves and whoever could move made a headway in the direction from where the song came. For them there was no stress, no strain, no thought and even no mind at that moment. That is the intoxication with Krishna Where can be any stress.
No comments:
Post a Comment