GHANA VARAŚÁY ÁJI KEKÁ GÁY
KUMUDE KAMALE KÁLINDII KÚLE
KETAKII KESHAR KE BHÁSÁY
ÁSHÁR PRADIIP NIVIYÁ GIYÁCHE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
ÁSHÁR PRADIIP NIVIYÁ GIYÁCHE
VRAJER GOPÁL LUKÁYE PARECHE
KUINJA KÁNANE TABU NIRJANE
KE JENO ÁJIO D́EKE JÁY
GHANA VARAŚÁY ÁJI KEKÁ GÁY
HÁRÁYE GIYÁCHE VRAJER SE DIN
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
HÁRÁYE GIYÁCHE VRAJER SE DIN
GOPIKÁR HRDAY RIKTA SHRIIHIIN
VRAJER ÁKÁSHA HOECHE MALIN
EKA GOPÁL SABE KÁNDÁYE
GHANA VARAŚÁY ÁJI KEKÁ GÁY
Today, the peacock sings in the intense rain
and lilies and lotus bloom on the river bank.
Who is that, scattering about ketakii fragrance?
The rays of hope have been extinguished.
Gopa’l, Krsna of Vraja, has hidden Himself.
Yet, even today, in the desolate garden
someone is calling.
The days of Vraja have passed.
The hearts of the devotees are empty and charmless.
The skies of Vraja have turned dull.
Gopa’l has made everyone cry.