KÁJAL KÁLO MEGHE DEKHE
KRIŚŃA
TOMÁY MANE PAŔE
VRAJER DHULI MÁTHÁY TULI
CÁI DHYÁNE RÁKHI DHARE
KRIŚŃA
TOMÁY MANE PAŔE
NÁI SE GOKUL, NÁI YAMUNÁ
YASHODÁNANDE DEKHI NÁ
MANTHE DADHI ÁJ SMARE NÁ
GOPI MÁKHAN CORE
KRIŚŃA
TOMÁY MANE PAŔE
NÁI SE TAMÁL NIIPERI PHUL
GUINJÁMÁLÁ KANT́HE DODUL
SE RÁKHÁL RÁJA KARIYÁ BHULO
KOTHÁY GECHE SARE
KON GOKULE DÚRE
KRIŚŃA
TOMÁY MANE PAŔE
KÁJAL KÁLO MEGHE DEKHE
KRIŚŃA
TOMÁY MANE PAŔE
O Krsna
I remembered You
looking at the black dark clouds.
I want to keep You in my meditation
by applying the dust of Vraja on my head.
That Gokul or Yamuna is not there any more.
I do not see the boy of Yashoda.
While churning the curd
the Gopiis do not remember the stealer of butter.
There are no flowers on the tama'l and niipa trees.
Neither are there herds of cows
shaking bells on their neck.
Where has the boy king of cowherds gone to?
To which Gokul?