ye pahli ghata sawan ki ye bhigi hawa sawan ki
ke jiyra ho machle machre machle
ye pahli ghata sawan ki ye bhigi hawa sawan ki
ke jiyra ho machle machre machle ye pahli ghata sawan ki

julf bikhar ke ude hawa me to kya hua to kya hua ji
age mitha dard jiya me to kya hua to kya hua
chu jaye ghata balo ko ke jiyra ho machle machle machle
ye pahli ghata sawan ki ye bhigi hawa sawan ki
ke jiyra ho machre machle machle
ye pahli ghata sawan ki

ho thik nahi niyat sawan ki sach hoga ha ji sach hoga
thik nahi niyat sawan ki sach hoga ha ji sach hoga
tadapati hai rut sawan ki sach hoga ha ji sach hoga
kuch bas me nahi jiyra ho ke jiyra ho machle machle machle
ye pahli ghata sawan ki ye bhigi hawa sawan ki
ke jiyra ho machle machle machle
ye pahli ghata sawan ki

ho kuch hone wala hai ab to hoke rahe ha ji hoke rahe
ho kuch hone wala hai ab to hoke rahe ha ji hoke rahe
dil khone wala hai ab to khoke rahe ha ji khoke rahe
bahlaye to kya bahlaye ke jiyra ho machle machle machle
ye pahli ghata sawan ki ye bhigi hawa sawan ki
ke jiyra ho machle machle machle
ye pahli ghata sawan ki

The monsoon's first cloud, a whisper of rain,
Oh, how my soul begins to yearn again, again, again.
The monsoon's first cloud, the rain's soft breath,
Oh, how my soul yearns towards sweet death, again, again, again.
The monsoon's first cloud.

If tresses dance, unbound in the breeze,
What does it matter, tell me, please?
If sweetness stings within the heart,
What does it matter, right from the start?
If clouds caress the hair that flows,
Oh, how my soul starts to decompose, again, again, again.
The monsoon's first cloud, the rain's soft breath,
Oh, how my soul yearns towards sweet death, again, again, again.
The monsoon's first cloud.

The monsoon's intent, a fickle game,
It will surely happen, the flickering flame,
The monsoon's intent, a truth to see,
It will surely happen, wild and free,
The season's ache, a burning plea,
It will surely happen, for you and for me.
My soul, it cannot be tamed,
Oh, how my soul is so inflamed, again, again, again.
The monsoon's first cloud, the rain's soft breath,
Oh, how my soul yearns towards sweet death, again, again, again.
The monsoon's first cloud.

Something is coming, it must take hold,
It must take hold, a story told,
Something is coming, the die is cast,
It must take hold, holding fast,
The heart will be lost, at any cost,
It must be lost, whatever the cost.
If I try to appease it, what is the use?
Oh, how my soul cannot refuse, again, again, again.
The monsoon's first cloud, the rain's soft breath,
Oh, how my soul yearns towards sweet death, again, again, again.
The monsoon's first cloud.