ଶୁଖିଲା ପତ୍ର ନୁହଁ ମୋ ଭାଷା,
ଯେ ଉଡି ଯିବ ଫୁରୁ ଫୁରୁ ହୋଇ
ଆଉ ହରେଇବ ସତ୍ତା।
ମୋ ଭାଷା ଦୁବ ଲଟା,
ଛନ ଛନ ହୋଇ ଉଠିବ କଅଁଳି
ଦେଖୁଥିବ ହୋଇ ଜଳକା।
ଭାରି ସୁଆଦିଆ ମୋ ଭାଷା
ସଦାସର୍ବଦା ନୂଆ ଦିଶା।
My language is not a dry leaf,
It would lost its existence
And would fly away.
My language is the holy grass,
You would look at it
When it grows afresh.
Very tasteful my language,
It gives new directions always.
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