Bengal is my homeland; Bengal I hold dear.
In Bengal's grief I weep; in Bengal's joy I beam.
Brothers-sisters of Bengal are the pals of play only;
Bengal's heart heavenly goes on pouring love constantly.
Bengal's flower, fruit, and water are daybreak's[1] smiling lotus,
Epoch-making, chagrin-ridding, in fog of despondency.
All of the Bengali hope, the language of Bengali love,
May it be accomplished through cosmic harmony once more.
The Bengali boys and girls, Bengali heaps of wisdom,
May it be achieved, hey Lord, thoughts of the Great mixing.
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Cosmic is the Bengal of Prabhat.
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