MOR MÁLÁ HEMANTA PHULE
HIMER HAOÁY DULE CALECHE
PARÁTE TOMÁRI GALE
MAN UTALÁ HOYE UT́HECHE
HIMER HAOÁY DULE CALECHE
RÁGE ANURÁGE GÁNTHÁ
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
RÁGE ANURÁGE GÁNTHÁ
CAYITA MÁLATII LATÁ
SHATA HARŚA SHATA VYATHÁ
MAN LUTÁTE KATHÁ KAHICHE
HIMER HAOÁY DULE CALECHE
ESO PRIYA ÁRO KÁCHE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
ESO PRIYA ÁRO KÁCHE
BÁJIYE VEŃU MARMA MÁJHE
ANTARETE JENO RÁJE
SHÁSHVATII PRIITI MADHU MÁLAINCE
HIMER HAOÁY DULE CALECHE
MOR MÁLÁ HEMANTA PHULE
HIMER HAOÁY DULE CALECHE
My garland of autumn flowers goes on swinging with cold wind. O Lord, for placing it into
Your neck, my mind becomes restless. Picked up from malatii creeper, and threaded with hue
of love, it tells of hundreds of pains and pleasures of the mental cobweb. O Dear, come
closer, playing Your flute within the core of the mind. So that within core of the garden
Your eternal love resonates.