MOR MAN MUKURE
AJÁNÁ PATHIK KENO DÁO NÁ DHARÁ
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
ÁSHÁR KALIRE KENO MADHUPE BHARE
PHOT́ÁO NÁ TVARÁ
DÁO NÁ DHARÁ
PHULE PHALE ÁCHE D́HÁKÁ
TOMÁR E TRIBHUVAN,
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
PHULE PHALE ÁCHE D́HÁKÁ TOMÁR E TRIBHUVAN
GANDHA PARÁG MÁKHÁ PRIITI KORAKER MAN
NIHSVA RIKTA KENO E KALI AKIINCANA
KENO ÁMI SARVA HÁRÁ
DÁO NÁ DHARÁ
LAVAŃÁKTA JALE SIKTA NAYAN MOR
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
LAVAŃÁKTA JALE SIKTA NAYAN MOR
VIŚÁDER KÁL RÁTRI KI NÁI HOVE BHOR
KATA MÁLÁ SHUKÁYECHE PAŔE ÁCHE SHUDHU D́OR
ÁNO ÁSHÁ BHARÁ PASARÁ
DÁO NÁ DHARÁ
MOR MAN MUKURE
AJÁNÁ PATHIK KENO DÁO NÁ DHARÁ
O unknown traveler,
in my mental mirror,
why won’t You appear?
The bud of hope is full of honeybees,
why won’t You quickly make it bloom?
This three-layered universe of Yours
is full of flowers and fruits.
The mind of each bud’s nucleus
is coated with the fragrance of pollen.
Why is this egoless bud is empty?
Why do I remain devoid of everything?
My eyes are wet with saline water.
Will there be no morning following this annihilating night of agonies?
Many floral garlands have dried up.
Only their thread is left.
Please bring a heap full of hopes.