he.. mor.. debata..
হে মোর দেবতা
My.. very.. own god, this life.. and soul.. you fostered..
what nectar.. do you drink from it..
You want a glimpse.. of your own world..
through my eyes.. precious poet,
as I listen.. with awe you are there,
heeding.. your own ballads by way.. of me..
Your innovation shapes my thought..
in manifold missives..
With this mingles your affection..
awakes ballads in me..
you view.. yourself affectionately..
while.. you make yourself.. present.. through me..
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