ÁSIBE ÁSIBE BOLE GELE
KENO ELE NÁ
GÁNTHÁ PHÚLER MÁLÁ
JHARE GELOPARILE NÁ
KENO ELE NÁ
VÁTÁYANE ÁNAMANE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
VÁTÁYANE ÁNAMANE
BASE THÁKI NIRJANE
MALAY SHONÁY KÁŃE
KATHÁ RÁKHILE NÁ
KENO ELE NÁ
RAVI ÁSE JÁY D́UBE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
RAVI ÁSE JÁY D́UBE
KAYE JÁY CUPE CUPE
ÁBÁR JÁGIBO PÚBE
TUMI KENDO NÁ
KENO ELE NÁ
ÁSIBE BOLE GELE
KENO ELE NÁ
You went away, telling You would return.
But why didn't You come back?
The threaded garland of flowers withered away.
You did not put it on.
I unmindfully remained seated in isolation on the balcony.
The sandal breeze whispered into my ears
that You had not kept Your words.
The sun rises and sets, and secretly says:
“I shall appear in the east. Do not weep.”