ÁMÁY MARUR MÁYÁ D́ÁKE
D́ÁKE D́ÁKE
ÁNKHI JHAŔER PHÁNKE PHÁNKE
D́ÁKE D́ÁKE
D́ÁKE D́ÁKE
MARUR MÁYÁ D́ÁKE
GHÁGARÁ PARÁ UŔANÁD́HÁKÁ
KOMAL KAT́HOR DUE MÁKHÁ
MARUR MEYE JÁY EGIYE
BÁLIR THÁKE THÁKE
D́ÁKE D́ÁKE
MARUR MÁYÁ D́ÁKE
NIIRAVA NIIRAS OGO MARU
NÁI BÁ THÁKUK SHYÁMAL TARU
ÁMI TOMÁY BHÁLOBÁSI
MAONA ABHIŚEKE
SHÁLMALI KINSHUKE
D́ÁKE D́ÁKE
MARUR MÁYÁ D́ÁKE
The mirage of the desert calls me.
It calls me from within my eyes
and from within storms.
Wearing skirts,
covering themselves with scarfs,
with both softness and harshness,
the desert girls move on, along the beach.
O silent, dry sand, you bear no green tree.
Yet, I love you,
and crown you silently,
like a silk cotton tree
with red kimshuk flowers.