ye khel aakhir kisliye man nahi ubta
kai kai baar to khel chuke hain
ye khel ham apni zindagi me
khel khela hain khelte rahe hain
natiza fir vahi ek jaisa
ek baaki rahta hain, haansil kya hota hain
zindagi har ek dusre ke andhere me hain
aakhir kisliye

ek kahani hain sunaau, kahaani do premiyo
dono javaan khubsurat akalmand
ek ka dusre se bepnaah pyaar
kasmo me bandhe huye ki janm janmantar tak
ek dusre ka saath nibhayenge
magar fir alag ho gaye
naujavaan fauz me chala gaya
gaya to laut ke nahi aaya
laapta ho gyaa

logo ne kaha mar gaya
magar mehbuba atal thi
boli ki wo lautega jarur lautega
pure chalish saalo tak saadhna me rahi
vafadaari se intjaar kiya
aakhir ek roz mehbub ka sandesh mila
main aa gaya hun sivaan vaale mandir me milo
kahne lagi dekha maine kaha tha na
daur kar gayi mandir pahuchi
par premi na dikhai diya
ek aadmi baitha tha ek dam budha
popla muh daant ganji aankho me mail
boli yaha to koi nahi
jarur kisi ne shararat ki hain
maayus hokar ghar lauti

waha mandir me intjaar karte karte
vo bhi thak gaya koi nahi aaya
chidiya ka bachcha tak nahi
ha ek budhiya aai thi
kamar se jhuki hui, baal uljhe uhe
aankh me motiyabandi
mandir me jhaankar dekha kuch badbdaai
aur apne hi saath
baat karte huye dur chali gayi
nirash ho gaya bechara bola
usne intjar nahi kiya
grsti rajkar mujhe bhul gayi
sandesha bheja tha
fir bhi milne tak nahi aai
kisliye aya
aakhir kisliye ye khel man nahi ubta

Why this game, this endless, weary play?
We’ve danced this dance, time and time again,
Throughout our lives, we've played the roles we're given.
The outcome, ever the same, a hollow ache.
What lingers then? What is the gain?
Each life a shadow in another's gloom.
Why, tell me, why?

A tale I'll tell, of lovers, young and bright,
With beauty, wisdom, shining in their eyes.
Their love, a boundless sea, without a shore.
Bound by oaths, for lifetimes intertwined,
They vowed to walk the path, side by side,
But destiny, a cruel and twisted hand,
Tore them apart. He joined the ranks of war,
And vanished, lost, across the distant lands.

The whispers rose: "He's dead," the people said,
But faith, her unwavering, held her fast.
"He will return," she vowed, "He will come back."
For forty years, she lived a life of prayer,
In steadfast loyalty, her heart ablaze.
At last, a message, carried on the breeze:
"I am here, at the temple of Sivan, miles away."
"I knew it," she cried, "I knew he'd come!"
She ran, her spirit soaring, to the shrine,
But found no lover there, only an old man,
Toothless, eyes clouded, hair a silver shroud.
"He is not here," she sighed, "a cruel jest played."
Disheartened, homeward, her long journey done.

And in the temple, waiting, he grew weary too.
No one appeared, not even a sparrow's flight.
Only an old woman, bent and frail,
With tangled hair and cataracts of age,
Peered in, and muttered words he couldn't grasp,
Then shuffled off, alone, into the fading light.
Despair consumed him, as he whispered low:
"She did not wait. The world, its grip,
Has made her forget me, though I sent my call.
She did not come to meet me. Why did I come?
Why? This game, this endless, weary play?"