Goláp haye uthche phute’,
Kántá vaner kunriguli;
Mátir ‘pare parche lute,
Dánavatár goláguli.

Cúrna hala attáliká
Múle jáhár shudhui phánká;
Udghośeri shekháno dhonká
Sájiye balá mithya buli.

Ruddha kanthe man kendeche,
Ruddha ghare gum hayeche;
Laksa mánuś práń diyeche je tattve
Tá hacche dhúli.

The blossoms in the thorn bushes
Are flowering into roses,
The cannonballs of the demons
Are tumbling on the ground.

The big mansion has crumbled to dust,
The ground beneath was all empty and hollow;
The fraud taught by the demagogue
Has proven all fraudulent and empty rhetoric.

The mind groaned, its voice gagged
In solitary confinement;
The idea for which millions gave their lives
Is being reduced to dust.

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