D́EKE D́EKE ÁMÁR DIN PHURÁLO
DINER SHEŚE GHUMER DESHE
ASTÁCALE RAVI GELO DIN PHURÁLO
D́EKE D́EKE ÁMÁR DIN PHURÁLO
SABUJ TRIŃA KÁLO HOLO
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
SABUJ TRIŃA KÁLO HOLO
ABUJH MAN TÁBUJHE NILO
KLÁNTA VIHAG GHARE ELO
KHUSHIIR ÁLO KOTHÁ LUKÁLO
DIN PHURÁLO
D́EKE D́EKE ÁMÁR DIN PHURÁLO
JÁNI VIBHÁVARIIR SHEŚE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
JÁNI VIBHÁVARIIR SHEŚE
UŚÁR ÁLO ÁCHEBASE
SEI ÁLOKEI PÁVÁR ÁSHE
NISHÁ KE MAN MENE NILO
Repeatedly calling You,
my days have passed.
At the end of the day,
in the land of sleep,
the sun has set.
The green grass has become black.
My ignorant mind has understood this.
The tired birds have returned home.
The light of joy has hidden itself.
I know that at the end of the night,
the light of the rising sun will reappear.
Yet, how will the night ever agree
to me entertaining the hope of attaining that light?