KRŚŃA BINÁ E NIIP KUINJA
RÚPA HIIN HOYE GECHE VÁŃII HÁRÁ PAŔE ÁCHE
DHÚLIR SHAYANE KÁNDE KARAINJA
KRŚŃA BINÁ E NIIP KUINJA
TRIŃA CHEŔE MUKH TÚLE CÁY NÁ VRAJER DHENU
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
TRIŃA CHEŔE MUKH TÚLE CÁY NÁ VRAJER DHENU
TRIŃA CHEŔE MUKH TÚLE CÁY NÁ VRAJER DHENU
TRIŃA CHEŔE MUKH TÚLE CÁY NÁ VRAJER DHENU
UTKARŃA HOYE SHONE NÁKO KÁRO VEŃU
MAYÚR ÁRO NÁ NÁCE CÁTAK VÁRI NÁ JÁCE
KHAINJAN HOYE GECHE KHAINJA
KRŚŃA BINÁ E NIIP KUNJA
YAMUNÁR DHÁRÁ ÁR UJÁNE NÁHI DHÁY
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
YAMUNÁR DHÁRÁ ÁR UJÁNE NÁHI DHÁY
YAMUNÁR DHÁRÁ ÁR UJÁNE NÁHI DHÁY
YAMUNÁR DHÁRÁ ÁR UJÁNE NÁHI DHÁY
MÁCHRÁUNGÁ KÁMARÁUNGÁ RAUNGE MAN NÁ BHOLÁY
DÁDUR VARAŚÁGAME D́ÁKE NÁ D́ÁHUK SANE
NABHE PÁI SHYÁM MEGH PUINJA
KRŚŃA BINÁ E NIIP KUNJA
In the absence of Krsna, this arbor of niipa trees
has become devoid of beauty and is silent.
Plum fruits are lying in the dust and lamenting.
Opening their mouth as they graze, the cows of Vraja have left.
No one is eager to listen to the flute with attentive ears.
The peacock does not dance anymore
and the catak bird does not seek rainwater.
The khainjan bird has become lame.
There is no flow of tide in the stream of the Yamuna river.
The colours of the kingfisher and chameleon do not charm the mind.
The toads no longer croak alongside the gallinule birds,
as rains arrive and dark clouds assemble.