ÁSILE NÁ KENO MOR PHÚLVANE
GOPANE NIIRAVA CARAŃE
JÁNITO NÁ KEU BUJHITO NÁ KEU
DEKHITÁM SMITA NAYANE
GOPANE NIIRAVA CARAŃE
MOR PHÚL VANE KÁNT́Á NÁI PRABHU
JHARÁ PÁTÁ PHELE RÁKHI NÁKO KABHU
UHA AVOHA YADI THÁKE TABU
ESO SANTARPAŃE
GOPANE NIIRAVA CARAŃE
TARUŃA TRIŃER TANIMÁ RAYECHE
KUSUM KORAKE SAORABHA ÁCHE
MANER MAYÚR KALÁPETE NÁCE
CHANDA MÁDHURII SANE
GOPANE NIIRAVA CARAŃE
ÁSILE NÁ KENO MOR PHÚLVANE
GOPANE NIIRAVA CARAŃE
Why didn’t You secretly come into my garden,
with silent feet?
No one would know or understand,
and I would see You with smiling eyes.
In my floral garden,
O Lord,
there are no thorns.
I never store aside any dropped leaf.
If thought waves appear from time to time,
come very cautiously.
The delicate slimness in young grass remains.
In the floral pollen, fragrance remains.
The mental peacock dances,
spreading its tail with sweet rhythm.