PÚRVA ÁKÁSHE ARUŃA HÁSE
NEIKO ÁNDHÁR RÁTA
KÁSHER PHÚLE SHISHIR DOLE
SHARATERA PRABHÁT
NEIKO ÁNDHÁR RÁTA
MANER KATHÁ BOLI KÁKE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
MANER KATHÁ BOLI KÁKE
SÁDÁ MEGHE NÁ SHIULIKE
KHUNJECHI JÁKE PELUM TÁKE
SMVITER PRABHÁT
NEIKO ÁNDHÁR RÁTA
SABÁI ÁJI KATHÁ BOLE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
SABÁI ÁJI KATHÁ BOLE
KEU HESE KEU HÁSIR CHALE
KEU VÁTÁSE DODUL DOLE
SARIYE SAḾGHÁTÁ
NEIKO ÁNDHÁR RÁTA
PÚRVA ÁKÁSHE ARUŃA HÁSE
NEIKO ÁNDHÁR RÁTA
In the eastern sky, the morning sun smiles, there is no dark night. Over the tall grass
dewdrops swing, on the winter mornings. To whom should I speak about my mind, to the white
clouds or to the shiulii flowers. The One Whom I was searching, I found Him at the dawn of
consciousness. All talk today, some with smile and some other with delusion of smile. Some
oscillate on the swing of air, removing the blow.