A TRANSLATION OR TWO - ON THE 18TH OF MAY, 2009 - FOR THE MORNING SUN THAT WILL RISE TOMORROW

Our pride, our hope above all you are,
my beloved language, O Bangla.
Your lap of comfort, of love
you grant me - my land, Bengal.

Your music enchants - the boatman
plies his oars with it, and the baul,
wayward soul, dances to its cadences.
The peasants seek the harvest -
your music leads them home.

The great Rabi sang to your tune
and brought home laurels and fame.
The world at your feet wanders to and fro.
O my beloved language - O Bangla