NIIL SAROVARE DINAKAR KARE
PHUT́E CHILO EK SARORUHA
CÁY NI SE KONO VITTA VIBHAVA
PRATIŚT́HÁ YASHA SAMÁROHA
PHUT́E CHILO EK SARORUHA
DULITO DODUL DOLE SE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
DULITO DODUL DOLE SE
UŚÁR URMI ÁVESHE
NÁCITO CHANDE MOHANÁNANDE
EKÁNTE RASA RABHASE
KEU, CENE NI TÁHÁRE JÁNENI TÁHÁRE
DEKHE NI TÁHÁR UHAVOHA
PHUT́E CHILO EK SARORUHA
CHUT́E ELO JHAŔA ULKÁ PRALAY
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
CHUT́E ELO JHAŔA ULKÁ PRALAY
KŚUDRA JIIVANE TÁKI TÁR SAY
ELO KÁLO CHÁYÁ KUHELIKÁ MÁYÁ
NÁMILO AKÁLE DUHSAMAY
MÁNUŚER HÁTE JIGHÁNSÁ SÁTHE
DILO TÁRE DUHKHA DUHSAHA
CHENŔÁ MRIŃÁLER JVÁLÁ DÁHA
PHUT́E CHILO EK SARORUHA
NIIL SAROVARE DINAKAR KARE
PHUT́E CHILO EK SARORUHA
In the blue pond, under the rays of the sun,
one lotus bloomed.
It wanted neither riches nor wealth,
not even a grand assemblage of prestige and fame.
Those who oscillate, swinging to and fro,
by the impulse of the morning waves,
dance rhythmically with charming bliss,
solitarily, along the flow’s upsurge.
No one knows them or recognises them
or sees their thought waves.
The annihilating meteorite comes rushing.
Can meagre living beings withstand it?
The dark shadow of illusive fog that ultimately comes
brings bad periods.
The killing fury in the hands of human beings,
leads to unbearable sorrow,
like the burning of a lotus stalk.