nahin
ye kisee ke paap ya gunaah kee nishanee nahin hai
ise kisee kee havas ne nahin mere pyaar ne janm diya hai
ye mere pyaar ka vo phool hai
jo meree kokh mai khila
aur god mai mahaka
mai poochhatee hu tumase
tum samaaj ke thekedaaron se
ke ek phool ko bhagavan ke charanon mein chadhaate vaqt
usake maalik ka naam poochhate ho tum bolo
nahin to phir ek orat ke is phool ka naam
kyon poochhate rahe ho
nahin maanatee mai aise samaaj ko
jo ek orat ko majaboor kar deta hai
usee ke jigar ke tukade to laavaarish chhodane par
bhagavaan kee is den ko napharat se dekh kar
tum ek maan ka nahin bhagavaan ka bhee apamaan kar rahe ho
ye kyon jaruree hai ke olaad apane baap ke naam se hee pukaaree jaaye
maan ke naam se kyon nahin
is maan ke naam se jo apanee olaad ko nau maheene pet mein rakh kar
maut kee dahaleej par usako janm detee hai
lagaakar jaan kee baajee
lagaakar jaan kee baajee
janm detee hai mardon ko
magar mardon ke haatho kis kadar barbaad hai orat
koee bhee aur aajaadee nahin orat ko
magar aansoo bahaane ke lie aajaad hai orat
magar ab poonchh degee apanee aankhon ka har ek aansoo
nisha har ek apane dil se gam ka ye mita degee
ise ab itana kamajor mat samajho jha vaalo
ye angaaron par chal ke bhee apana jigar dikha degee
naya hai ye dor is dor ke mardon jara sun lo
sitam ka saamana karana ke lie ab taiyaar hai orat
jo dekho ge mahobbat se to ye phoolo kee daalee hai
magar napharat se dekhoge to ek talavaar hai orat

This is not a mark of sin, nor guilt's stain,
Born not of lust, but of love's sweet reign.
This bloom of my love, within me it grew,
Blossomed in my womb, and now in my view.
I ask of you, keepers of societal law,
When offering a flower to God's sacred draw,
Do you inquire of its owner's name, you tell?

Then why this flower, born of a woman's swell,
Must bear a name not its own, you see?
I reject the world that binds a woman free,
Forcing her to abandon, left to the waste,
A piece of her heart, her love's embrace.
With hatred you gaze upon God's gracious gift,
Insulting not just a mother, but God's swift
Mercy. Why must a child's identity be bound
To the father's name, on hallowed ground?
Why not the mother's, the one who bore,
Nine moons within, at death's very door,
Risking her life, to bring forth a life anew,
For the very men who now their freedom pursue?
But how they've destroyed, with their cruel hand,
The woman they've made, in this desolate land.
No other freedom is offered to her soul,
But tears to be shed, to make her whole.

But now she will dry each tear that falls,
Erase the sorrow that her spirit enthralls.
Do not mistake her weakness, you who judge and scorn,
She can walk on embers, her true spirit born.
This is a new age, men, heed my call,
The woman is ready, she will not fall.
If you look with love, a blossoming bough you'll find,
But with hate, she's a sword, sharp of mind.