My sweet Baby, pity me

(3448) Nece nece ay man murachay

Ever dancing, do come You; the mind swoons;
My Gopal, upon lap please come.
Butter have I brought, I've kept kheer too
For feeding You at once.

Dust has stuck to body; so come, let me expunge.
The hair bun gets undone; I will fix it up.
Not having kept externally, I will store internally–
Yourself in my mental subconscious.

In my mind, You're the whole charming adornment;
Jeweled throne is carefully bedecked.
Alas, I cannot show it, veiled by darkness gloomy;
Only You coming is ridding that ebon.

Ever thinking about what, my mind is effusive;
Eyes don't behold it, what is this missile terrific?
It proceeds, borne upstream on Jamuna of pity;
At which hour will it come? 

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