paav uthte na the sultan ke
par chal hi diye
sun chitod gunaho ki salami ke liye
waha magar pahuche to
shole the na chingari thi
rakh ka dher tha
khamoshi waha kari thi
ek budhe ne ishare se unhe batlaya

wo kisi rakh me hai
jiske liye tu aaya
fut aankho se pade
aasuo ke fuhare
muh se sultan ne itna hi kaha
allah re
shama parwane ke jalne par
hasa karti hai
aap parwana bane shama hi
wo dharti hai
aap parwana bane shama hi
wo dharti hai

The Sultan's feet, they faltered, heavy lead,
Yet moved, compelled by Chittor's fallen deed.
He walked to meet the city's mournful grace,
To witness sin in ruin's stark embrace.

No blaze remained, nor ember's dying gleam,
Just ash, a silent, hollow, mournful dream.
A stillness held, a presence in the air,
An old man's gesture, whispering despair.

"She lies within the ash, the dust, the gray,
For whom you came, to whom you lost your way."
Then tears, a torrent, burst from swollen eyes,
And from his lips, a single, anguished sigh:

"Oh, Allah, see! The candle's light, so bright,
Laughs at the moth, consumed by burning night.
You are the moth, drawn to the flame's allure,
While she, the candle, fades, and is no more."