सखेति मत्वा प्रसभं यदुक्तं हे कृष्ण हे यादव हे सखेति।अजानता महिमानं तवेदं मया प्रमादात्प्रणयेन वापि॥
sakheti matvā prasabhaṃ yad uktaṃhe kṛṣṇa he yādava he sakhetiajānatā mahimānaṃ tavedaṃmayā pramādāt praṇayena vāpi
Word by word
The verse says
Whatever I said carelessly, thinking of you as a friend — hey Krishna, hey Yādava, hey friend — not knowing this greatness of yours, out of carelessness or out of affection —
In plain words
He quotes himself. Three times, with the actual words he used.
He kṛṣṇa he yādava he sakhe — the casual vocatives you use with somebody your own age.
And then the two reasons: carelessness, or affection. He is not sure which it was, and says both.
Where you've felt this · in friendship
You find out the quiet man you have been sharing a desk with for two years, and ribbing about his terrible coffee, was a surgeon in another country before he came here. Nothing he ever said to you was false. You just spend the next few days reviewing every joke you made.
Going deeper
An apology for familiarity is a strange thing to need, and the honesty of this one is in the second reason he gives.
He could have said he was careless, and left it there. Instead he says carelessness, or affection — pramādāt praṇayena vāpi — and does not choose between them. That is exact. Some of what he said was thoughtless. Some of it was said precisely because he loved the man and felt easy with him, and he cannot now tell those apart.
That is the real difficulty of the moment, and it is not guilt in the ordinary sense.
What he is actually grappling with is whether the ease itself was a mistake — whether knowing what he now knows means the friendship was always a misunderstanding. The next three verses are him working that out, and the answer he arrives at, in verse 44, is the warmest thing in the book.