TOMÁRE BHÁVIÁ CALI RÁTI DIN
KENO DÚRE RAYE GELE
MOR ÁSHÁ BHÁLOBÁSÁ
AVAHELE DILE PHELE
KENO DÚRE RAYE GELE
ÁNDHÁR HRIDAYE VIDHU
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
ÁNDHÁR HRIDAYE VIDHU
MARUTE MÁDHAVII MADHU
ÁMÁRE KÁNDÁLE SHUDHU
KI KARILE LIILÁ CHALE
KENO DÚRE RAYE GELE
TOMÁRE BUJHE OT́HÁ BHÁR
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
TOMÁRE BUJHE OT́HÁ BHÁR
KÁNT́Á KUSUM DUI UPAHÁR
EKE BÁDE THÁKE NÁ ÁR
LIILÁ RASE KII RACILE
KENO DÚRE RAYE GELE
KENO DÚRE RAYE GELE
I think of You day and night.
Why do You remain away far?
My hopes and love have been totally neglected by You.
O moon of my dark heart,
sweet madhavii flower of the desert,
You only make me cry.
What have You done to me, playing Your delusive game?
It is difficult to understand You.
Your theatrical play consists of both flowers and thorns.
To this there is no exception.
What sort of creation did You bring about
through the flow of Your divine play?