MATHURÁY KE ELO GO
VRNDÁVANE JALE BHÁSIYE
RÁGA ANURÁGA VIRÁGA TOMÁR
SAB KICHU KE GELO CHÁPIYE
VRNDÁVANE JALE BHÁSIYE
GUINJÁMÁLÁ RÁKHÁL RÁJE
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
GUINJÁMÁLÁ RÁKHÁL RÁJE
PARÁY NÁ KEU SAKÁL SÁNJHE
KÁNDE NÁ GOPII HARŚE LÁJE
MÁKHAN CORE DEKHATE NÁ PEYE
VRNDÁVANE JALE BHÁSIYE
SHUK SÁRIKÁ BHULICHE GÁN
ÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ
SHUK SÁRIKÁ BHULICHE GÁN
YAMUNÁY NEI SE PRIITIR VÁN
BRAJER ÁKÁSH HOYECHE MLÁN
EKAK SE GOPÁL KE HÁRIYE
VRNDÁVANE JALE BHÁSIYE
MATHURÁY KE ELO GO
VRNDÁVANE JALE BHÁSIYE
Who has come to Mathura’, flooding the land of Vrndavan with tears? The attachment, love
and aversion, all pertaining to You, has enveloped everything. No one puts on garland of
guinja’, a red and black seed, over the neck of the King of cowherds, morning, evening.
By not finding the stealer of butter, the gopiis, cowmaids, devotees, do not cry with
shyness of joy. The parrots forgot the song, and in the river Yamuna’, there is no flood
of love. The sky of Vraja has become dull by losing One single Gopa’l.