PÚRVA DIGANTE TAMASÁR ANTE
UNKI DEY RAKTIM ÁBHÁ
YUGE YUGÁNTE EI PRATYÁNTE
KE SE ÁSE PURURAVÁ
UNKI DEY RAKTIM ÁBHÁ
KŚUDRA JÁ KICHU MOR NILO JE KEŔE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
KŚUDRA JÁ KICHU MOR NILO JE KEŔE
BRHATER BHÁVANÁY DIYECHE BHARE
ÁLOKER UDBHÁSE PRÁŃER BHÁVOCCHÁSE
BHÁVÁLOKE MANO LOBHÁ
UNKI DEY RAKTIM ÁBHÁ
ÁMÁR JÁ KICHU SABAI DIYECHI TÁRE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
ÁMÁR JÁ KICHU SABAI DIYECHI TÁRE
EGIYE CALI PATHE TÁHÁRI TARE
UTSAVE ÁSAVE NITYA SE VÁSAVE
SMARE CALI RAJANII DIVÁ
UNKI DEY RAKTIM ÁBHÁ
The red morning glow,
at the end of the night,
peeps through the eastern horizon’s sky.
At the end of uncountable eras,
who is that Purarava who came?
He snatched away all the meanness in me
and filled me with the ideation of the Great.
With an overwhelming heart He illuminated me with light
and charmed me from the world of ideative feeling.
Whatever was mine, all that I gave to Him.
For Him,
taking His ideation,
I move forward.
With the nectar of festivity,
ever remembering the controller of all,
I move on day and night.