End of Communism Song
4705 GOLÁP HOYE UTHCHE PHUTE
GOLÁP HOYE UTHCHE PHUTE
KÁTÁ BANER KURIEGULI
MÁTIR PARE PÁRCHE LUTE
DÁBAVATÁR GOLAN'NGULI
CÚRN'A HOLA ATTÁLIKÁ
MUJ'LE JÁHÁR SHÚDHUI PHÁNKÁ
UDGHOS'ERI SEKHÁNO DHONKÁ
SÁJIYA BALÁ MITHYE' BULI
RUDDHA KANTHE MAN KENDECHE
BADDHA GHARE GUM HOYECHE
LAKS'A MÁNUS' PRÁN'DIYECHE
JE TATTVE TÁHOCCHE DHULI
The buds in the thorn bush
are flowering into roses.
The bullets and missiles of the demons
are falling on the ground.
Mansions built on sand
have crumbled to dust.
The high-sounding slogans
tutored to the people
and clothed in grand phrases
are all empty lies.
People have cried inwardly
suppressing their agony.
They have been kept confined in a closed room.
The theory which has taken heavy toll of millions of lives
is being dashed to the ground.
