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)