GOURACHANDRA

 Gourachandra:

A  fulcrum in the potter wheel

He is the wheelman he is the soil man,

Makes pots of clay with his golden hands.

He is mud stated throughout his hide,

As it coats him to quote his pride.

His hair is white and his lips are black, 

A molded figure of soil and soul so stark.

His eyes are red for the beating of the sand,

He sweats his tears to dry his gland. 

He twins his eyes for his art and act,

For men like him, God is praised at heart.

His body is crusted like the earth of grit,

With two crafty hands of the mud smith. 

He has a big family to render his tail,

They will expand his art as his arteries spell.

Divinity in him smiles in his face, 

He has pride in his love and grace.

Gourachandra:

Un fulcro en la rueda de alfarero

Él es el hombre del suelo, él es el hombre del suelo,

Hace macetas de arcilla con sus manos de oro.

Él es barro declarado a lo largo de su piel,

Como le cubre para citar su orgullo.

Su cabello es blanco y sus labios son negros,

Una figura moldeada de suelo y alma tan difícil.

Sus ojos son rojos para la paliza de la arena,

Suda sus lágrimas para secar su glándula.

Él gemelos sus ojos por su arte y acto,

Por hombres como él, Dios es alabado de corazón.

Su cuerpo está cortado como la tierra de sémola,

Con dos manos astutas del barro smith.

Tiene una gran familia para hacer su cola,

Ampliarán su arte mientras sus arterias hechizan.

La divinidad en él sonríe en su rostro,

Tiene orgullo de su amor y gracia.

Paramananda Mahanta