mohan humare madhuban me tum
aaya na karo
jadu bhari ye bansuri bajaya na karo
chhaliye aaya na karo
mohan humare madhuban me tum
aaya na karo
jadu bhari ye bansuri bajaya na karo
chhaliye aaya na karo

surat tumhari dekh ke
saloni banwri, saloni banwri
sunke tumhari bansuri
hoti hum banwri, hoti hum banwri
is bansuri par teer ye
is bansuri par teer ye
sunaya na karo
jadu bhari ye bansuri bajaya na karo
chhaliye aaya na karo

sar pe mukut beimaan
sakhiye kaath me soye
sakhiye kaath me soye
kano ke kangan jhumte
man ko mere mohe
man ko mere mohe
sautan jama ka rup le
sautan jama ka rup le
lubhaya na karo
jadu bhari ye bansuri bajaya na karo
chhaliye aaya na karo

apni yashoda maiya ki
saugandh hai tumko
saugandh hai tumko
apne us nand baba ki
saugandh hai tumko
saugandh hai tumko
makhan churane wale
makhan churane wale
chit churaya na karo
jadu bhari ye bansuri bajaya na karo
chhaliye aaya na karo
mohan humare madhuban me

Do not, my Mohan, in the Madhuban appear,
Nor with your sorcerous flute our senses sear.
Do not, O charmer, come this way.
Do not, my Mohan, in the Madhuban stay,
Nor with your sorcerous flute our senses sway.
Do not, O charmer, come this way.

At sight of you, my beauty takes its flight,
My reason lost, in sunlit, dizzying light.
Your flute's sweet call, a spell upon the air,
The notes, like arrows, pierce our hearts with care.
Do not those notes, like arrows, send their dart.
Nor with your sorcerous flute break open the heart.
Do not, O charmer, come this way.

A crown askew, a faithless, wicked gleam,
While sisters sleep, lost in a waking dream.
Your earrings swing, and captivate the soul,
Our spirits ache, beyond our own control.
Like rivals gathered, longing to entice,
Do not with such a tempting, wicked device.
Nor with your sorcerous flute entice our way,
Do not, O charmer, come this way.

By your own mother, Yashoda, I implore,
By sacred oaths that bind you evermore,
By Nanda's love, your father, now I plead,
By all you hold, by every cherished deed,
You who stole butter, sweet and fine and fair,
Do not our hearts, with cunning, now ensnare.
Nor with your sorcerous flute, now fill the air,
Do not, O charmer, come this way.
My Mohan, in Madhuban's sweet embrace.