4705 (23/01/1990) D


GOLÁP HOE UT́HACHE PHUT́E
KÁNT́Á VANER KUNŔIGULI
MÁT́IR PARE PAŔCHE LÚT́E
DÁNAVTÁR GOLÁGULI
KÁNT́Á VANER KUNŔIGULI

CÚRŃA HOLO AT́T́ÁLIKÁ
MÚLE JÁHÁR SHUDHUI PHÁNKÁ
UDGHOŚERI SEKHÁNE DHONKÁ
SÁJIYE BOLÁ MITHYE BULI
KÁNT́Á VANER KUNŔIGULI

RUDDHA KANT́HE MAN KENDECHE
RUDDHA GHARE GUM HOYECHE
LAKŚA MÁNUŚA PRÁŃA DIYECHE
JE TATVE TÁ HOCCHE DHULI
KÁNT́Á VANER KUNŔIGULI

GOLÁP HOE UT́HACHE PHUT́E
KÁNT́Á VANER KUNŔIGULI







The buds on the garden rose bushes
are giving rise to beautiful blooms.
Falling to earth now
is the plundering ammunition of the demons.

Palaces crumble to dust.
Foundations of the world lie uncovered.
Suspicions are laid bare.

Embellished words prove to be hollow speech.
The innermost cries, the choked throats
remain secreted behind locked doors.
Millions of human lives have been wasted
on that materialistic theory
but it is now returning to dust.

The buds on the garden rose bushes
are giving rise to beautiful blooms.

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The buds in the thorn bush
are flowering into roses.
The bullets and missiles of the demons
are falling on the ground.

Mansions built on sand
have crumbled to dust.
The high-sounding slogans
tutored to the people
and clothed in grand phrases
are all empty lies.

People have cried inwardly
suppressing their agony.
They have been kept confined in a closed room.
The theory which has taken heavy toll of millions of lives
is being dashed to the ground.