har aish hai dunia ka kismat me garibo ke
din kate nahi kat-te bechare amiro ke
dunia me amiro ko
aji dunia me amiro ko
aaram nahi milta
aaram nahi milta
aaram nahi milta
haste hai to rone ka
haste hai to rone ka
ha paygam nahi milta
paygam nahi milta
aaram nahi milta

savere chai aur phir nashta
phir do baje khana
baje jab char to, phir chai biscuit
aur phir rat ko khana
lage rahte hai hardum
khane hi khane ke chakkar me
musibat hi musibat hai
likhi unke mukaddar me
becharo ka bin motar
becharo ka bin motar
to paanv nahi hilta
to paanv nahi hilta
aaram nahi milta
dunia me amiro ko
aaram nahi milta
aaram nahi milta
aaram nahi milta

garibo ko to dekho
rat din aaram karte hai
chane ki ek muthi khake
din bhar kam karte hai
na khane ki musibat hai
pahanne ka na kuch jhagda
fakat tan dhakne ko chahiye
chota sa ek kapda
aur unka hazaro me
aur unka hazaro me
ek shut nahi milta
ek shut nahi milta
aaram nahi milta
aaram nahi milta
dunia me amiro ko
aaram nahi milta
aaram nahi milta
aaram nahi milta

aji dunia me amiro ko
aaram nahi milta
aaram nahi milta
aaram nahi milta
aaram nahi milta
haste hai to rone ka
haste hai to rone ka
ha paigaam nahi milta
paigaam nahi milta
aaram nahi milta
paigaam nahi milta

The world's pleasures, a pauper's fate, it seems,
While the rich, alas, find no peaceful dreams.
In this world of opulent ease,
In this world of the wealthy elite,
No solace they seize,
No solace they greet,
No solace complete.
Laughter's a mask, a prelude to tears,
Laughter's a mask, it swiftly disappears,
No comfort appears,
No message of peace,
No solace they keep.

From dawn's tea to midday's grand fare,
Then biscuits and tea at the fourth hour's glare,
And again, the feast at night,
Consumed by food, a relentless plight,
Their destiny, woven with woe,
Their destiny, a burden to know.
Without their motors, their feet cannot stray,
Without their motors, they falter and sway,
No solace they find,
In this world of the rich,
No solace they find,
No solace they find,
No solace they find.

Behold the poor, in slumber they lie,
A handful of chickpeas, their day to defy.
They toil and they labor, from morn until night,
No food's grand struggle, no sartorial fight,
Just a simple cloth, their form to enfold,
Just a simple cloth, brave and bold.
And yet, for these rich, a suit is a prize,
And yet, for the rich, a suit is denied,
No solace they find,
No solace they find,
In this world of the rich,
No solace they find,
No solace they find,
No solace they find.

In this world of the wealthy elite,
No solace they greet,
No solace complete,
No solace they keep.
Laughter's a mask, a prelude to tears,
Laughter's a mask, it swiftly disappears,
No comfort appears,
No message of peace,
No solace they keep,
No message appears.