In Krishna’s form lies the power of devotion,
Detachment from results, and work without commotion.
In the darkest of nights, when chaos did spread,
It was Krishna who rose, and Kansa’s reign was dead.
He stole Gopis’ clothes, teaching lessons of grace,
Yet saved Draupadi’s honor, in a moment’s embrace.
The creator of worlds, once called a butter thief,
Held up Govardhan, renouncing warrior's grief.
He crushed demons like Putana, Shakatasur bold,
Kansa met his end by Krishna, strong and untold.
The yogi who danced with joy, shedding worldly care,
Fleeing Jarasandh’s wrath, crafting victories rare.
With his finger alone, he lifted the mountain high,
And made mighty Indra bow to the earth and sky.
When the wicked spin webs, his Sudarshan does spin,
When deceit reigns high, his justice shall win.
Serpents tremble in fear, mountains dance at his feet,
Even Indra submits, finding his pride’s defeat.
With a flute in one hand and a chakra in the other,
Govardhan’s lifter, playful as no other.
Like a child’s game, he makes the mighty flee,
The cause of all causes, the eternal decree.
Radha’s beloved, yet cunning in game,
The destroyer of evil, yet sweet in name.
The wheel of creation, both action and cause,
The protector of Dharma, who knows not a pause.
Neither greed nor desire controls his form,
In battle or peace, he transcends the norm.
He dwells in the sky, in water, and land,
In the moments gone by, and the future at hand.
From every step of the world, his essence does flow,
In every pulse of life, his presence does glow.
The past and the present, the future unknown,
Krishna’s eternal, ever-moving throne.
In the restless mind and the calm of the heart,
In creation’s birth, and its final part.
With form and without, he is beyond all sight,
In the diversity of life, he shines ever bright.
Krishna is truth, both the end and the start,
The giver of liberation, and life’s ultimate art.
