MANER GAHANE SARORUHA
VANE ESECHILO SEI MADHUKARA
GUINJARI JENO PRIITI D́HELE DILO
UTHALIÁ MAN SAROVARA
E MADHUKARE CENÁ NÁHI JÁY
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
E MADHUKARE CENÁ NÁHI JÁY
KOTHÁ HOTE ÁSE KOTHÁ CALE JÁY
CHANDE O SURE ANURÁGA BHARE
RAUNGE RAḾGE BHÁSVARA
ESECHILO SEI MADHUKARA
MADHUKARE UPAMÁ NÁ PÁOÁ JÁY
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
MADHUKARE UPAMÁ NÁ PÁOÁ JÁY
NÁ BOLÁ BHÁŚAY CHANDA JÁGÁY
EKAK KAŃT́HE GÁNA GEYE JÁY
KÁLÁTIITA SEI SVARA
ESECHILO SEI MADHUKARA
MANER GAHANE SARORUHA
VANE ESECHILO SEI MADHUKARA
The honeybee came into the lotus grove.
It came humming, deep into the depth of mind.
It poured its love into the mental pond.
It is hard to recognise that bee,
to know where it came from
and which place it is going to.
It shines in a variety of colours,
full of affection,
with rhythm and melody.
No comparison of that bee is found.
It awakens rhythm in unexpressed language.
That timeless melody
keeps singing its song
in each and every throat.