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Báṋshiite kareche utalá,
Náhi máne belá-abelá.
Báṋshii báje paiṋcame dhariyá ámár náme,
Chut́i bhule láj ekelá.
Mana náhi base káje,
Sadá shuńi báṋshii báje
Se sarvanáshá surelá.
Bhavi káńe tuliba ná,
Ár sáŕá dobo ná,
Jatai dákuk more,
Shuńeo shuńiba ná.
Ná shuńiyá náhi pári,
Bheve pare láje mari,
Tomrá bala e kii jválá.
Madhumálaiṋca, Kolkata, 28/3/85
The sound of the flute unsettles me,
Day in, day out, heedless of time.
The fifth note calls me by name,
And I rush out alone, forgetting any shame.
I cannot focus on my work,
The flute sound haunts me over and over again,
And I lose myself in those ruinous strains.
I think that I will listen no more,
Nor shall I respond again,
No matter how ardent the call,
I will not hear, I will feign.
But I cant help hearing,
And I die with shame.
Tell me, what agony is this?