Preme Matta Mahā Balī Cale Diga Diga Dali

He is very powerful. He is wild in the ecstasy of spiritual love. He walks in one direction and then another. The earth cannot bear the weight of His footsteps. His form is graceful and handsome. His footsteps are slow. Is He an elephant drunk on wine?

The hairs of His body stand erect in the ecstasy of spiritual love, erect like the filaments of a golden kadamba flower. Flooding rivers of tears of spiritual love stream from His eyes. He dances. He sings of Lord Gaura’s glories. In His heart He thinks of the past. “Brother! Brother!”, He calls.

He roars. He beats His chest. He roars like a lion. Hearing His roar, the blasphemers feel their hearts crack into shards. His mace is not meek and shy. His hands are red lotus flowers. He is the great hero Balarāma.

He is the fallen soul’s only friend. He is an ocean filled with the jewels of jewels. He gives eyes to the blind. The only fallen soul remaining is Gupta dāsa, Gupta dāsa who still does not search for His Lord.