PS 4705
GOLA'P HAYE UTCCHE PHUT'E KA'NT'HA' VANER KUNR'IGULI
Renditions
Lyrics
Roman script
GOLÁP HOE UT́HACHE PHUT́E KÁNT́Á VANER KUNŔIGULI MÁT́IR PARE PAŔCHE LÚT́E DÁNAVTÁR GOLÁGULI KÁNT́Á VANER KUNŔIGULI
CÚRŃA HOLO AT́T́ÁLIKÁ MÚLE JÁHÁR SHUDHUI PHÁNKÁ UDGHOŚERI SEKHÁNE DHONKÁ SÁJIYE BOLÁ MITHYE BULI KÁNT́Á VANER KUNŔIGULI
RUDDHA KANT́HE MAN KENDECHE RUDDHA GHARE GUM HOYECHE LAKŚA MÁNUŚA PRÁŃA DIYECHE JE TATVE TÁ HOCCHE DHULI KÁNT́Á VANER KUNŔIGULI
GOLÁP HOE UT́HACHE PHUT́E KÁNT́Á VANER KUNŔIGULI
Translation
The buds on the garden rose bushes are giving rise to beautiful blooms. Falling to earth now is the plundering ammunition of the demons.
Palaces crumble to dust. Foundations of the world lie uncovered. Suspicions are laid bare.
Embellished words prove to be hollow speech. The innermost cries, the choked throats remain secreted behind locked doors. Millions of human lives have been wasted on that materialistic theory but it is now returning to dust.
The buds on the garden rose bushes are giving rise to beautiful blooms.
The buds in the thorn bush are flowering into roses. The bullets and missiles of the demons are falling on the ground.
Mansions built on sand have crumbled to dust. The high-sounding slogans tutored to the people and clothed in grand phrases are all empty lies.
People have cried inwardly suppressing their agony. They have been kept confined in a closed room. The theory which has taken heavy toll of millions of lives is being dashed to the ground.
Thoughts
Saved only in this browser.