SVARŃA KAMAL PHÚT́E CHILO
KON SE NIIL SAROVARE
ÁSHÁR MÁŃIK JVELE DIYE CHILO
SABÁKÁR ANTARE
KON SE NIIL SAROVARE
PRABHÁTE DULITA MRDU VÁYU BHARE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
PRABHÁTE DULITA MRDU VÁYU BHARE
MADHYAHNA MIHIRERA KARE
SANDHYA BELÁY SANDHYÁ TÁRÁ
KATA KI KAHIYÁ JETO TÁRE
KON SE NIIL SAROVARE
HIḾSÁ LIPTA MÁNUŚERA MAN
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
HIḾSÁLIPTA MÁNUŚER MAN
SAHILO NÁ TÁRE SMITA SUSHOBHAN
KARA PATRE MRIŃÁLA GÁTRE
ÁGHÁT HÁNILO CIRA TARE
ÁJ SE KAMAL NÁI DHARÁ PARE
KON SE NIIL SAROVARE
SVARŃA KAMAL PHÚT́E CHILO
KON SE NIIL SAROVARE
The golden lotus (once) bloomed on some blue lake.
The ruby gem of hope shone in everyone's core.
In the morning, that lotus used to swing in the soft breeze.
At noon, it basked in the rays of the sun.
In the evening, the evening star had many things to say to it.
The human mind, engulfed with thoughts of killing,
could not tolerate such smiling beauty.
With a saw, on the lotus stem's soft body,
it went on injuring it.
Today, that lotus is no longer found on this earth.