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119 (17/11/1982) K


MEGH TUMI KÁCHE ESO
JAL CÁI ÁRO JAL CÁI

SABUJ DHÁNER CÁRÁ SHUKHÁIÁJÁY
EK KAŃÁ JAL NÁI, JAL NÁI
JAL CÁI ÁRO JAL CÁI

NEBUR PHULETE ÁJO MADHU BHARENI
ÁTÁR PHULETE KONO PHAL DHARENI
BÁTÁVIR PHUL GANDHE MÁTENI
EI NIDÁRUŃ KHARÁ THEKE TRÁŃ PETE CÁI
JAL CÁI ÁRO JAL CÁI

KADAMBA KALI SAB JHARE PAŔE JÁY
RAJANI GANDHÁ PHÚL PHÚT́ITE NÁ PÁY
ÁGUNER HALKÁY MÁT́I PUŔE JÁY
VARŚÁR SNIGDHATÁ KOTHÁ KHUNJE PÁI
JAL CÁI ÁRO JAL CÁI


O clouds! Come near!
We want water,
still more water!
The green seedlings of paddy are withering
in the scorching heat of the sun.
There is not a drop of water,
not a single drop.

The orange blossoms are not yet filled with nectar,
the custard apple blossoms
have not yet become fruits.
The pomelo flowers are not intoxicated with fragrance;
from this cruel drought we want relief.


The kadamba blossoms have all dropped off,
the tuberose flowers cannot bloom.
In this fiery heat the earth is scorched.
Where shall we find the freshness of rain?







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