CAMPAK KALI JHARIÁ GIYÁCHE
MANER KUINJA VANE ÁMÁR
SE PRIYA ÁSENI STABAK NEYANI
PHUL SAHE NI SE VEDANÁ BHÁR
MANER KUINJA VANE ÁMÁR
PRABHÁTE UT́HIÁGENTHE CHINU MÁLÁ
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
PRABHÁTE UT́HIÁGENTHE CHINU MÁLÁ
RÁGÁTMIKÁR MADHU TÁTE D́HÁLÁ
SÁJIYE SONÁLII VARAŃA D́ÁLÁ
PATH PÁNE CEYE CHINU TÁHÁR
MANER KUINJA VANE ÁMÁR
SAMVIT BOLE SAMAY ESECHE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
SAMVIT BOLE SAMAY ESECHE
EKHANAO TÁHÁR ÁSÁR ÁSHÁ ÁCHE
PRIITIR DEULE SÁJÁIÁ PHULE
DIIPJVELE D́ÁKO? TÁRE EBÁR
MANER KUINJA VANE ÁMÁR
CAMPAK KALI JHARIÁ GIYÁCHE
MANER KUINJA VANE ÁMÁR
In my mental garden, the bud of campa’ withered down. The Dear did not come, did not
accept the offering in the hands, the flowers could not bear the load of this agony.
Getting up in the morning, I threaded the garland, poured the honey of total devotion into
that, decorating the golden tray of colours, I stood beside the path of His arrival. The
consciousness tells that there was still time, even now there is hope of His arrival.
Decorating the temple of love with flowers, kindle lamp and call Him again this time.