NAYANE YADI NÁ ELE
MANANE MOR ESO NIRÁLÁY
JIIVANE PATH PÁNE CEYE CEYE
BENCE ÁCHI ÁSHÁY
MANANE MOR ESO NIRÁLÁY
ÁMÁR E GUL BÁGICÁ
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
ÁMÁR E GUL BÁGICÁ
PHÚL HÁRÁ PAŔE ÁCHE KÁNT́Á
SE KÁNT́Á DICCHE KHONCÁ
JOÁRERA PARE JENO BHÁNT́Á
UTALÁ HOI DHAERYA HÁRÁI
BHEVE BHEVE E NIT́HÚRATÁYA
MANANE MOR ESO NIRÁLÁY
EKHANO ÁCHE SAMAY
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
EKHANO ÁCHE SAMAY
MALAY VÁY E PHÁLGUNII RÁTE
KŚAŃEK THÁKO SÁTHE
E PURŃIMÁTE SUSNIGDHA JYOTSNÁYA
MANANE MOR ESO NIRÁLÁY
NAYANE YADI NÁ ELE
MANANE MOR ESO NIRÁLÁY
If You won’t come into my eyes,
silently come into my mind.
Moving on the path of life,
I survive with hope.
The flowers of my floral garden are no more.
Now only thorns remain.
Those thorns hurt and prickle as ebb flow
(when the water recedes and leaves the beach to dry).
Thinking of this compassionlessness,
I lose my patience and become unsettled.
But even now there is time,
on this night of spring, filled with the sandal breeze.
Stay with me for a moment,
under the soft full-moon light.