CAMPAKA VANE BASE EKÁSANE
GÁNTHIYÁCHI MÁLÁKHÁNI
ÁMI, GÁNTHIYÁCHI MÁLÁKHÁNI
BHARE HRDAY KHÁNI
PARIBE GALÁY HE KARUŃÁMAYA
DIINER ARGHYA MÁNI
GÁNTHIYÁCHI MÁLÁKHÁNI
ÁMI, GÁNTHIYÁCHI MÁLÁKHÁNI
SAB KÁJ PHELE PHUL TULIYÁCHI
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
SAB KÁJ PHELE PHUL TULIYÁCHI
SHARAT SHISHIRE DHUIÁ ÁNIYECHI
PRIITIRI D́ORE, GÁNTHIÁ REKHECHI
NIO PRIYA KÁCHE T́ÁNI
GÁNTHIYÁCHI MÁLÁKHÁNI
ÁMI, GÁNTHIYÁCHI MÁLÁKHÁNI
VAN VIITHIKÁY E KUSUM CHILO
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
VAN VIITHIKÁY E KUSUM CHILO
MAN GIITIKÁY DHARÁ PAŔE CHILO
PARŃE GANDHE UCHALITE CHILO
CHILO VÁK HIIN VÁŃII
GÁNTHIYÁCHI MÁLÁKHÁNI
ÁMI, GÁNTHIYÁCHI MÁLÁKHÁNI
CAMPAKA VANE BASE EKÁSANE
GÁNTHIYÁCHI MÁLÁKHÁNI
ÁMI, GÁNTHIYÁCHI MÁLÁKHÁNI
O Lord, sitting in one posture in the garden of campak flowers, I was threading garlands
with full heart. Assuming that You would wear that, accepting as an offering of this poor.
Ignoring all works, I pick up flowers, and bring after washing in the dew drops of the
winter. I have kept them threaded with the twine of love, take it, O Lord, pulling close.
The flowers present at the garden lane, with mental songs, they had dropped on the ground.
With leaves and fragrance, they have juped, but had words without speech.