hai waqt ek aisa sahra
jiske hai din raat me kaante
hai waqt ek aisa sahra
jiske hai din raat me kaante
har ek hai zakhmi paanv
har ek hai zakhmi paanv
hai har kadam, haalat me kaante
hai waqt ek aisa sahra
jiske hai din raat me kaante

nahi ho tum to har ek phul
jaise zakhm lagta hai
nahi ho tum to har ek phul
jaise zakhm lagta hai
nahi ho tum to har ek phul
jaise zakhm lagta hai
tumhare bin, tumhare bin
tumhare bin baraste hai yaha barsaat me kaante
tumhare bin baraste hai yaha barsaat me kaante

maula maula gajab ye hai, gajab ye hai
gajab ye hai, gajab ye hai
ke jinke lab pe gunche ka guma gujre
guma gujre, guma gujre, guma gujre
gajab ye hai
ke jinke lab pe gunche ka guma gujre
jo unse baat ki, jo unse baat ki
jo unse baat ki to paaye unki baat me kaante
jo unse baat ki to paaye unki baat me kaante

bulaya dono ko usne chaman me
par ye lagta tha
bulaya dono ko usne chaman me
par ye lagta tha
bulaya dono ko usne chaman me
par ye lagta tha
udu ki baat me, udu ki baat me
udu ki baat me hai phul, meri baat me kaante
udu ki baat me hai phul, meri baat me kaante
har ek hai zakhmi paanv
har ek hai zakhmi paanv
hai har kadam, haalat me kaante
hai waqt ek aisa sahra
jiske hai din raat me kaante

A desert is Time itself,
Whose days and nights are thorns,
A desert is Time itself,
Whose days and nights are thorns.
Each foot, wounded and bare,
Each step, a field of thorns.
A desert is Time itself,
Whose days and nights are thorns.

Without you, each blossom
Feels like a wound that bleeds.
Without you, each blossom
Feels like a wound that bleeds.
Without you, each blossom
Feels like a wound that bleeds.
Without you, without you,
Without you, rains of thorns descend.
Without you, rains of thorns descend.

Oh, this wonder, this wonder,
This cruel, cruel wonder,
That where lips speak of buds,
Of buds, of buds, of buds,
This cruel wonder,
That where lips speak of buds,
If you speak to them, if you speak to them,
If you speak to them, you find thorns in their words.
If you speak to them, you find thorns in their words.

He called them both to the garden,
Yet it seemed,
He called them both to the garden,
Yet it seemed,
He called them both to the garden,
Yet it seemed,
In the enemy's speech are flowers,
In my speech, only thorns.
In the enemy's speech are flowers,
In my speech, only thorns.
Each foot, wounded and bare,
Each foot, wounded and bare,
Each step, a field of thorns.
A desert is Time itself,
Whose days and nights are thorns.