mu: saavan kaa mahinaa, pavan kare sor
la: pavan kare shor
mu: pavan kare sor
la: pavan kare shor
mu: are baba shor nahi sor, sor, sor
la: pavan kare sor

ha, jiyaraa re jhume aise, jaise banamaa naache mor
ho saavan kaa mahinaa

maujavaa kare kyaa jaane, hamako ishaaraa
jaanaa kahaan hai puchhe, nadiyaa ki dhaaraa
marazi hai tumhaari, le jaao jis or
jiyaraa re jhume aise

raamaa gajab dhaae, ye purava_iyaa
na_iyaa sambhaalo kit, khoe ho khiva_iyaa
purava_iyaa ke aage, chale naa koi zor
jiyaraa re jhume aise

jinake balam bairi, gae hai bidesavaa
laai hai jaise unake, pyaar kaa sadesavaa
kaali adhiyaari, ghataae ghanaghor
jiyaraa re jhume aise

The monsoon month, the wind it makes a sound,
The monsoon month, the wind it makes a sound.
Ah, ah, the wind it makes a sound, the wind it makes a sound.
Oh, not a sound, but a surge, a surge, a surge, the wind it makes a sound, yes.
My heart it dances, as a peacock in the wood,
The monsoon month, the wind it makes a sound,
My heart it dances, as a peacock in the wood.
The monsoon month, the wind it makes a sound,
My heart it dances, as a peacock in the wood.

Rama, this eastern wind, it plays its cruel game,
Hold fast the boat, oh rower, lest you lose your name.
Rama, this eastern wind, it plays its cruel game,
Hold fast the boat, oh rower, lest you lose your name.
No force can stand against the eastern gust's wild sway,
My heart it dances, as a peacock in the wood,
The monsoon month, the wind it makes a sound,
My heart it dances, as a peacock in the wood.

The waves, they beckon, knowing not our quest,
Where do we sail, the river asks, put to the test?
The waves, they beckon, knowing not our quest,
Where do we sail, the river asks, put to the test?
Your will it is, to where the waters course,
My heart it dances, as a peacock in the wood,
The monsoon month, the wind it makes a sound,
My heart it dances, as a peacock in the wood.

Those whose loves have journeyed far away,
Bring tidings borne of love, come what may.
Those whose loves have journeyed far away,
Bring tidings borne of love, come what may.
The dark, intoxicated clouds, they gather, roar and pour,
My heart it dances, as a peacock in the wood,
The monsoon month, the wind it makes a sound,
My heart it dances, as a peacock in the wood.
My heart it dances, as a peacock in the wood.