NÁ JÁNIYÁ BHÁLOBESECHI
BESE DEKHI JÁNÁ NÁHI JÁY
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
MADHUR HÁSIR MOHAN BÁNSHII
ÁŔÁLE THÁKE SE SHYÁM RÁY
BESE DEKHI JÁNÁ NÁHI JÁY
BHÁVE JE YAMUNÁ UJÁNETE DHÁY
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
BHÁVE JE YAMUNÁ UJÁNETE DHÁY
TÁRE BHÚLE SHYÁM JÁY DVÁRAKÁY
NANDA YASHODÁ DILO SNEHA SUDHÁ
TÁDER PÁNEO NÁHI TÁKÁY
BESE DEKHI JÁNÁ NÁHI JÁY
JE GOPIKÁ DILO PARÁŃERA MADHU
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
JE GOPIKÁ DILO PARÁŃERA MADHU
TÁDERO TYÁJILO SE JYOTSNÁ VIDHU
CAKITA HARIŃII PREKŚAŃÁ SHUDHU
KÁNDIÁ KÁNDIÁ KÁLA KÁT́ÁY
BESE DEKHI JÁNÁ NÁHI JÁY
I have loved without knowing it.
Even had I looked closely, I wouldn’t have known.
That Shyam Ray remains hidden
with a sweet smile and a charming flute.
The Yamuna river overflows with impulse,
forgetting that Shyam is going to Dvaraka.
Nanda and Yashoda had been given the nectar of affection.
Not even at them is He looking.
The cow maids who had offered the sweetness of their lives to Him,
He left them too, being their illuminating moon.
As if only the astonished and frightened deer were to be observed,
time passes crying.