PST 0670 - Phuler vane bhomara elo

Phuler vane bhomará elo
Hat́hát kena ke jáne
Ke jáne go ke jáne
Rauṋ berauṋer pátáy gherá
Rauṋiin phuler pápŕite
Se je kona mánái ná máne

Tái to dekhi phulavane áj
Camak legeche
Madhur háoyá priitigiite
Bhare tuleche
Phulerá cáy bhomará ásuk
Gunguniye kathá baluk
Buker madhu niye uŕuk
Sab kháne go sab kháne

Egiye calár neiko bádhá
Udár hrday chande báṋdhá
Gáner bháśá sure sádhá
Konkháne go konkháne
Eki chavi sakal vane
Sakal hiyáy sauṋgopane
Ná náŕáno tantrii táne
Sab mane go sab mane

Bee came into a flower's grove;
Why all asudden, no one knows...
Who knows, oh, who knows?
Surrounded by multicolored leaves
And flower petals hued brilliantly,
The Bee heeds no restriction.

So now within that garden I gaze,
Mystified and amazed...
With songs of love a sweet breeze
Has lifted up and imbued me.
Flowers want the Bee to appear,
Abuzz with stories to speak...
Taking heart's nectar to fly away,
In every place, yes, every place.

There's nothing that can impede progress
When noble minds hold common purpose...
When speech is sung in practiced strain,
In every place, yes, every place.
In every garden there is just one image;
In all minds, it lies hidden...
In notes of an unstrummed harp
In every heart, yes, every heart.