The parijaat has lent its fragrance,
And to it, the crisp air holds on,

Hair tied with flowers, little girls run amok,
Ducking under the Bhog plates, each wearing a pretty frock,

Dainty white autumn clouds float listlessly in the beauteous blue,
Earth has just been cleansed and got back her hue,

The sticks throatily sing aloud as they merrily dance on the drums.
Boys run out with gay abandon, calling out to their chums,

Oh! What euphoria! What cheer!
The Devi, is very near.

To welcome her, the streets have lighted up,
Shops and stalls have with flowers decked up,

Happy souls tap to sound of drums intoxicated with incense smell,
Chimes of bells! Such joyous moments do they spell,

Gleefully rubbed away is every tear,
Oh! With what love, SHE is feverishly awaited each year.