subah ki dhoop pe isi ki dastkhat hai
isi ki roshni udi jo har taraf hai
ye lamho ke kuve mein roz jhaankti hai
ye jaake waqt se hisaab maangti hai
ye paani hai ye aag hai, ye khudi likhi kitaab hai
pyaar ki khuraak si hai piku
subah ki dhoop pe isi ki dastkhat hai

panna saanso ka palte aur likhe unpe mann ki baat re
lena isko kya kis se, isko toh bhaaye khud ka saath re
uh oh barish ki boond jaisi, sardi ki dhundh jaisi
kaisi paheli iska hal na mile
kabhi ye aasmaan utaarti hai neeche
kabhi ye bhaage aise baadalon ke peeche

isey har dard ghoont jaane ka nasha hai
karo jo aaye jee mein iska falsafa hai
ye paani hai ye aag hai, ye khudi likhi kitaab hai
ye pyaar ki khuraak si hai piku

mode raaho ke chehre, isko jaana hota jis ore hai
aise sargam sunaaye, khud iske sur hain iske raag re
uh oh roothe toh mirchi jaisi, hans de toh cheeni jaisi
kaisi paheli iska hal na mile

subah ki dhoop pe isi ki dastkhat hai
isi ki roshni udi jo har taraf hai
ye lamho ki kuve mein roz jhaankti hai
ye jaake waqt se hisaab maangti hai

ye paani hai ye aag hai, ye khudi likhi kitaab hai
pyaar ki khuraak si hai piku
subah ki dhoop pe isi ki dastkhat hai

Upon the morning's sun, its signature is etched,
Its light, a scattered dance, on all that is now fetched.
It peers into the well of moments, day by day,
And questions time, demanding it to pay.
It is water, it is fire, a self-written tome,
A love's true sustenance, a feeling called home.
Upon the morning's sun, its signature is etched.

It turns the pages of breath, writes the heart's decree,
Needs nothing from another, content to just be free.
Like a rain drop falling, like winter's frosted haze,
A riddle it presents, lost in life's maze.
At times, it pulls the heavens down below,
At times it flees the clouds, in swift afterflow.
It finds intoxication in the pains it meets,
The fruit of what it wills, and life it greets.
It is water, it is fire, a self-written tome,
A love's true sustenance, a feeling called home.

It bends the paths it treads, toward a desired end,
A melody it sings, its own notes to extend.
If angered, like a chili, if laughing, sugar sweet,
A riddle it remains, at life's own feat.
Upon the morning's sun, its signature is etched,
Its light, a scattered dance, on all that is now fetched.
It peers into the well of moments, day by day,
And questions time, demanding it to pay.
It is water, it is fire, a self-written tome,
A love's true sustenance, a feeling called home.
Upon the morning's sun, its signature is etched.