KETAKI KESHAR KAYE GECHE KÁŃE
KADAMBA KALI KÁNDICHE
SHVANANE SHVANANE SHVANICHE
AŃU YAMUNÁY TANU MEKHALÁY
UJÁN ÁJ NÁ BAHICHE
SHVANANE SHVANANE SHVANICHE
MAYUR MAYURI VAN HARIŃII
PRATIIKŚMÁN DIVAS YÁMINI
KÁR PRIITITE SMRITIR SHROTE
BHÁSIBE BHÁVITE NÁ PÁRICHE
SHVANANE SHVANANE SHVANICHE
TAMÁL KUNJE VEŃU NIKUNJE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
TAMÁL KUNJE VEŃU NIKUNJE
ALI ÁJAO UŔE PUNJE PUNJE
BÁJE NÁ SE VÁNSHI PHOT́ENÁ SE HÁSI
NIILOTPALA HÁRIE GECHE
SHVANANE SHVANANE SHVANICHE
KETAKI KESHAR KAYE GECHE KÁŃE
KADAMBA KALI KÁNDICHE
SHVANANE SHVANANE SHVANICHE
The pollen of katakii flower told into my ears that the buds of kadamba cry. It resonates
in each sound, the microcosmic river Yamuna’, does not flow with tides today into the
series of bodies. The peacocks, peahens, deer, are awaiting day and night. They cannot
imagine, under whose stream of memories, with love You would float. In the groves of palms
and bamboos, even today the bees hover in groups. That flute does not play, that smile is
not scattered, the blue lotus is lost.