My husbandsman is Giridhar, there is no other. On whose head rests the peacock crown, he alone is my husband. Father, mother, brother, relatives, these I have none. I have forsaken both God and family's honor. What do I care? Sitting near the holy ones, I have lost all shame of the public. I have torn my veil to shreds. I walk around wrapped in a blanket. I have cast away the necklace of pearls, and put on a garland of wildflowers. I have assidiuously watered the love's vine with my tears. Now look, how it has grown. Look at the flowers of bliss it has borne. The churner of milk has churned me with great love. Now that I have the butter, what need to drink watery buttermilk? Coming here for the sake of love-devotion, I saw the world and wept. Mira is a slave of the Mountain-Holder; his love carries me to the far shore.

Translated from the Braj Basha