O, How Shall I Behold The Statue?

O, how shall I behold the statue, The golden statue that I have found, How, how shall I the statue golden But blacky-coated, I do not know, Whether it was polished so as to avoid The commonly public gaze Or grew it so living in the earth, Into the mound of the olden bricks, O, I don't know, I don't know! Speak, speak you, history and histriography, Dwelling in heritage sites of archaeology, Speak you, speak you, O, museums About the statue, about the statue That I have found, found From the columns and racks Of the fallen and dilapidated and mangled temples Of the olden days, of yore, Centuries old and like a mound! A statue, a statue that I have found, Blackly, but golden, I do not know whether it was blackly-coated Or was golden, It grew so living in the dark, Laden under, Into the earthen mound, The earth levelled, But the statue arising from When the foundation dug out With a clink When the spade falling over And the digger picking up Always in the search of. Now aghast and awe-stricken I beholding the statue, My statue, blackly from outside But golden from inside, Metally one made from pure gold, Cast in And I peeping into, Who the makers were, Who the possessors once were of it, Who the priests, How the temples housing them, Those days of yore and bygone times! Now say you, say you, how to keep my Krishna, How to show it to the world, How the statue golden, How my Krishna, Radha and Krishna, Krishna and Radha, Radha-Radha, Krishna-Krishna, The Consort Divine, I have got my Krishna, my Krishna, Now want I not anything more, Just my Krishna!