Hemanta, the king of seasons, has descended to earth

Hemanta, the king of seasons, has descended to earth No flowers, no greenery, no tender leaves... Hemanta, the king of seasons, has descended to earth No flowers, no greenery, no tender leaves. No hum of bees, no song of birds No breeze that brings the fragrance of flowers. Trees and creepers that looked like beautifully decorated chariots Now stand with drooping faces Silent, hiding their pain, heartbroken they stand Like the unfortunate, they look so helpless. Wrapped in a blanket of fog, fields lie sleeping Sighing softly, as if blaming you Slowly moving, pulling aside the veil from the face The Tunga river flows, shivering, body trembling. Dry leaves falling, climbing the trees The forest bird sheds tears. In the cold wind, in a drop of frost Human life is trapped, caught in prison. Hemanta, the king of seasons, has descended to earth No flowers, no greenery, no tender leaves... Hemanta, the king of seasons, has descended to earth No flowers, no greenery, no tender leaves... Everywhere white fog, everywhere icy wind Everywhere a shivering silent world! Everywhere barren forest, everywhere lifeless people Everywhere an empty mind, groaning in sorrow. Such is the harsh command of Hemanta's rule To bow before it is the secret of creation. In every season, in every form To be refined is the dharma of all living beings. Hemanta, the king of seasons, has descended to earth No flowers, no greenery, no tender leaves... Hemanta, the king of seasons, has descended to earth No flowers, no greenery, no tender leaves...