Sab raddh ho gayi, Khatam ho gayi, Nahi hai, Kisi ke paas nahi hai
Kehte hain na - main woh jaanta hoon main woh jaanta hoon
Sab bakwaas hai

Mere paas mein imaandaari sachchai hai,
Yahi bachi hai mere paas aur kuch nahi hai saab
Haamare jo yo kehte hain ki tumhare jo jajmaan hote hai
Hamara koi jajmaan nahi hai
Hamare toh poori gaaon jajmaan hota hai; sab samaaj
Hindu ho Musalmaan ho, Iss tarike ke (matlab) do do hain
Ham hain jogi, Par hamara toh sarkaar mein bhi naam nahi hain
Woh nahi jaante musalmaan jogi kaun hote hain, Aise nahi jaante
Nahi jab ki Bhishti, Sakka sabko jaante hai,
Miya saab hote hain, faqeer hote hain, Unka sabka naam hai
Lekin hamari qaum ka, government ke pannon pe hi naam nahi hai
Sab bakwaas hai

Sarkaar ke woh hote hain na, Unpe thoda sa apne hisaab se
unpe likh leta hoon main, Jaise bhrun hatya hai
Samaaj mein jaise chal raha hai mahaul samaaj ka, Iss tarike ka
Meri khudki rachna sunaoon? Gaाon wale toh sunte hain
Pata nahi shehar walon ko pasand aayega ya nahi aayega
Allah jaanta hai

Ham haath mein Gita rakhenge seene mein Qur’an rakhenge
Mel badhayega aapas mein woh dharam imaan rakhenge
Shankh bajayenge bhaichaare ka, mann ki na jaan rakhenge
Ham Kaaba bhi rakhenge, Kashi bhi rakhenge
Magar pehle Hindustan rakhenge, Yeh hamari soch hoti hai
Ekta ka sandesh, gaaon mein jaakar de aana, unko batana

It is finished, ended fully, Nobody had it and nobody has it
He who says: I knew that and I know this, talks rubbish

I have my ethics and my honesty,
But that is all that is left: nothing remains
You have your benefactors, I have none to call my own,
but the whole village is my patron -
every Muslim, every Hindu, every human.
That means two things, you see, first that I’m a mystic,
And I am invisible to the State.
Because for them our community doesn’t exist.
The castes of the water-giver and wine-pourer they know
They know the merchant from the mendicant.
But my people are invisible and missing from the pages
of their knowledge.

I try to write on those pages of theirs, of the things in our
society, like foeticide,
In these compositions of mine, the ones that the villagers
listen to, but God only knows if the city folks care.

I keep the Gita in my hand and the Koran on my heart
We become more human when our faith is thus and we
Sound the conch of brotherhood
The Ka’aba is as precious to us as is Kashi
But our country is above them both
That is our real creed and
this Message of unity is what we spread.