phool gendwa na maro na
maro lagat karejwa me chot
dil me duhai kahe chatur
galat chhichori karat harjai
phool gendwa na maro na maro
phool gendwa na maro na maro
lagat karejwa me chot
bahka hua ye angara angara
ha bahka hua ye angara

jo gendwa kahlaye hai
kankar jhan gire papi wahi daag padh jaye hai
ang ang mora peer kare
aur kar ke kahe
phool gendwa na maro phool gendwa na maro
phool gendwa na maro phool gendwa na maro
lagat karejwa me chot
phool gendwa na maro na maro phool gendwa na maro
phool gendwa na maro na maro phool gendwa na maro
phool gendwa na maro na maro phool gendwa na maro
lagat karejwa me chot
ruk jao ruk jao ruk jao
na satao mohe dil me balam o balam
na satao mohe dil me balam o balam
maan jao ab dil ki abla dekho ab dungi bol
chatur galat chori karat harjai
phool gendwa na maro na maro
phool gendwa na maro na maro

Do not hurl the floral sphere, no, do not,
For it strikes the heart, a wounding shot.
Within the heart, a plea is made,
By cunning hands, a wicked raid.
Do not hurl the floral sphere, no, do not.
Do not hurl the floral sphere, no, do not,
For it strikes the heart, a wounding shot.
Aflame, this ember, burning bright,
Yes, aflame, this ember's plight.

The sphere of bloom, they call it so,
Where it falls, a stain will grow.
Each limb of mine, in aching plea,
Cries out and says to me:
Do not hurl the floral sphere, no, do not.
Do not hurl the floral sphere, sphere, sphere, no, do not,
For it strikes the heart, a wounding shot.
Do not hurl the floral sphere, do not.
Do not hurl the floral sphere, do not.
Do not hurl the floral sphere, do not.
For it strikes the heart, a wounding shot.
Cease now, cease, cease now,
Do not torment my heart, my love, oh love,
Do not torment my heart, my love, oh love,
Come now, for my heart, this maiden's plight, behold, I will now speak.
By cunning hands, a theft is wrought.
Do not hurl the floral sphere, no, do not, no, do not,
Do not hurl the floral sphere, no, do not, no, do not.