MADHUMÁS ÁJO ÁSE NI
SHIITA CALE JÁY JÁY
JIIVANER UCCHALATÁ
KON MERU PÁNE DHÁY
SHIITA CALE JÁY JÁY
PIK SHÁKHE D́ÁKENI
KISHALAYO HÁSENI
MANJARIIO ÁSENI
SAHAKÁR SHÁKHÁY
SHIITA CALE JÁY JÁY
KIḾSHUK DEYA NI DOLÁ
SHÁLMALII KI SE BHOLÁ
BADARIKÁ EKÁ ABELÁ
KÁRE D́EKE KII SHUDHÁY
SHIITA CALE JÁY JÁY
MADHUMÁS ÁJO ÁSE NI
SHIITA CALE JÁY JÁY
The spring has not come till today, the winter goes on passing. The restlessness of life
rushes towards some mountain. The cuckoo does not call at the tree branch, the tender
leaves also do not smile. Even the buds do not appear on the mango tree branches. The
kim’shuk flowers do not swing, sha’lmalii is forgotten. Whom the plum alone, untimely
calls, enquiring what?