śrī nandanandanāṣṭakam

Eight verses in the plainest metre available, each ending I bow to the son of Nanda, and between them they take him from the crown of the head to the soles of the feet without hurrying. The lovely round of the face and the jewelled rings at the ears; sandal rubbed into the limbs; long lotus eyes and a peacock plume in the hair; a pearl at the tip of the fine nose and a clean row of teeth; limbs glossy as a new rain-cloud; the flute making the hand bright, and a gait that shames the lord of elephants; fine yellow silk; the body beautiful in its triple bend, the light of the nails like the moon, ornaments beyond price; the Kaustubha at the chest and the Shrivatsa flashing beside it. Only the last verse leaves the body for what it does — the mind of the world is drawn away. Recited for the crossing of the ocean of becoming.