My Bengal has ceased to exist,
My Bengal has now eroded,
Her body has rusted away.
The east and the west are mixed up.
Today she’s a confounded mess.
The fanatics brandish their sceptre,
While cowards walk out with bowed heads.
Surely this age belongs to headless demons,
Courage and honesty being banished.
Bengal is in the clutch of intriguing rulers,
My Bengal abounds with flatterers;
The rest of the populace comprise:
The self-centered, inert and rubbish.
I weep over my Bengal to exhaust my tears.
May one day her soil be fertile,
May true humans sprout on her soil,
May the ill-fated Bengal habitable for humans.