kisi maachis ki nahi
ye aag kisi shole ki nahi hai
magar ye hai meri jawani ki

darji ne meri angiya tang kar di
koi jaye jara jaake use maare
ranrejwa ne chunri berang kar di
rang aisa jo na utre utaare
agni jawani ki mujhko jalaati hai
daiya kahin main isme mar na jaau jal ke
har pal akele me mujhko satati hai
kisko batau, koi jane na yaha

darji ne meri angiya tang kar di
koi jaye jara jaake use maare
ranrejwa ne chunri berang kar di
rang aisa jo na utre utaare

haal main pi kisko batau
dawa kahan se jaake main laau
dard aisa saha bhi na jaye kisi se
kisi se kuch kaha bhi na jaye
nikal na jaaye aise me kahi ye jaan

darji ne meri angiya tang kar di
koi jaye jara jaake use maare
ranrejwa ne chunri berang kar di
rang aisa jo na utre utaare

dekho ji dekho haalat hai kaisi
paani ke bina machhli ke jaisi
kate na din raina akele
koi to aake baaho me lele
sulagta hai badan
magar na uthta dhua

darji ne meri angiya tang kar di
koi jaye jara jaake use maare
ranrejwa ne chunri berang kar di
rang aisa jo na utre utaare
agni jawani ki mujhko jalaati hai
daiya kahin main isme mar na jaau jal ke
har pal akele me mujhko satati hai
kisko batau, koi jane na yaha

No match, this blaze is not,
But of a flame, a burning spot,
This fire, the youth within me brought.

The tailor's stitch, my blouse, too tight,
Go, strike him down, and set things right!
The dyer's touch, my scarf, its hue bereft,
A color stained, no cleansing left.
The fire of youth, it burns so deep,
Oh, will I drown in flames asleep?
Each lonely moment, shadows creep,
To whom can I confess, and weep?

The tailor's stitch, my blouse, too tight,
Go, strike him down, and set things right!
The dyer's touch, my scarf, its hue bereft,
A color stained, no cleansing left.

To whom can I this plight impart?
Where can I find a healing art?
A pain that cannot be endured,
A secret that must be secured,
Lest in this moment, life departs.

The tailor's stitch, my blouse, too tight,
Go, strike him down, and set things right!
The dyer's touch, my scarf, its hue bereft,
A color stained, no cleansing left.

Behold, my state, a mirrored plight,
A fish that gasps, devoid of light.
The days and nights, they never cease,
Oh, let some arms bring me release!
My body smolders, burning slow,
No smoke ascends, though embers glow.

The tailor's stitch, my blouse, too tight,
Go, strike him down, and set things right!
The dyer's touch, my scarf, its hue bereft,
A color stained, no cleansing left.
The fire of youth, it burns so deep,
Oh, will I drown in flames asleep?
Each lonely moment, shadows creep,
To whom can I confess, and weep?