The tearful eye, the soul distressed, suffice not
Indictment for love suppressed, a price not
Today, with shackled feet, in the bazaar march!
With hands spread, dance in your trance, march!
To bloody clothes ‘n dusty head, not a glance, march!
Awaits the whole town perchance, march:
Of the town, ruler; the crowd madding too
Of the accuser, arrow; the foe’s pelting too
Gloomy, dreary morn’ , the day’s failing too
To life, bring them all, who but we?
In Love’s town, in the ranks stand, who but we?
Now worthy of oppressor’s hand, who but we?
O mournful hearts, pack now wherewithal, march!
To gift life, none but we; go and fall, march!
(Translated by Asif Iftikhar)