KUSUM STABAKA MOR CHILO HÁTE
ÁPLÚTA ÁNKHITE RAINJITA ÁSHÁTE
ÚŚŃA PRÁŃER ARUŃIMÁTE
KUSUM STABAKA MOR CHILO HÁTE
KEMANE D́ÁKITE HOYE JÁNITÁM NÁ
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
KEMANE D́ÁKITE HOYE JÁNITÁM NÁ
KII SUR SÁDHITE HOYE BUJHITÁM NÁ
MOR, CHILO AJÁNÁVAEDHII SÁDHANÁ
ÁNKHI PÁTÁ CHILO TAVA ÁSÁ PATHE
KUSUM STABAK MOR CHILO HÁTE
BHÁLO BESE CHINU KENO JÁNI NÁ
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
BHÁLO BESE CHINU KENO JÁNI NÁ
KENO JE CEYE CHINU TÁO BUJHI NÁ
TUMI, SURE LAYE HE CIRA ACENÁ
ELE, SAORA KAROJJVAL RÁUNGÁ PRABHÁTE
KUSUM STABAKA MOR CHILO HÁTE
Floral offerings were in the palms of my folded hands.
Accompanying my tear-soaked eyes and coloured hopes,
was the warm reddishness of life.
I did not know how to call You.
I did not understand what melody to practice.
I used to carry out only ritualistic performances,
yet my eyes were turned towards the path of Your arrival.
Why I loved, I did not know.
Why this liking,
I did not understand either.
You came with tune and melody,
O ever unknown one,
on a colourful morning along bright sun rays.