The sky, the wind, the hills and river of this Bangla
Calls you Bangabandhu, if only you could come Back
To see still now seat of honour spreads on human heart
Still people remember you; mother, father, sister and brother
All those who are wretched, infirm and neglected
Looks pathetically at the festivities and luxury of the country
In empty stomach they walk through decorated avenues
Contemplating who again have taken charge of this country
All through your youth and life remained in confinement
Released you and gave you freedom to breathe
The people take breath on the soil of Bengal and in the wind
With the voice of freedom given by you in aspiration of life
The people stars to sing
In your absence lives of the millions of people are disrupted
Stores of songs and paddy and foodstuff of Bangla
Is bartered and exchanged with false gold
With the ship loads of bright and shiny products
The gold goes out in faraway and nearby countries
The jackals come in to take away treasures
At your fiery voice rats that fled away in dark caves
Again come back today; your voice is not heard again
In daylight and at night they ransack every house
Every often I see corpses are strewn here and there
The soil is drenched with your blood cry out again and again
Stil the garden, hills, and rivers call you again and again