475.
Halud gándár phul kanak cánpár phul
Ene de ene de go.
Naile kándbo dine ráte bándhbo ná cul.

Ámár saḿgii sáthiirá sab geche hát́e.
Tárá nácte nácte geche bát́e bát́e.

Ámáy jete náhi dili Tui ánli ná phul
Ámi ákhá náhi choba káne parbo ná dul.

Er bicár karbe moder debtá atul
Ámáy duhkh dili nárili ánte go phul.

Bring me yellow marigold and golden champa flowers,
Or I shall cry and cry day and night;
I will neglect to tie my hair.
My friends have all gone to the market,
Dancing through the open fields.
Neither You allowed me to go
Nor did You bring me flowers.
I will never light the stoves again,
Nor decorate my ears with rings.
I’m sure the god of truth
Will dispense justice for this.
You simply give me pain after pain.
You couldn’t bring a single flower for me.
I’m sure the god of truth
Will dispense justice for this.