ai dil hame itna bata
marte hain ham jinke liye kaise chale unko pata
ai dil hame itna bata
dil hi agar ek dard ho to kya kare dil ki dava
marte hain ham jinke liye kaise chale unko pata
ai dil hame

jinhe hamne nindo me khwaabo me paala
vo aankho ki thandak, vo dil ka ujala
hain betaab ham bhi ye vo maanate hain
magar voh ishaaro ko kam jaanate hain
zamaane ki nazaro se hamne bacha ke
unhe dhadkano me rakha hai chhupa ke

vo chehra koi aaina bhi na dekhe
koi aur to kya khuda bhi na dekhe
khuda bhi na dekhe, khuda bhi na dekhe
maangi hai ye dil ne dua
marte hain ham jinke liye kaise chale unko pata
dil hi agar ek dard ho to kya kare dil ki dava
ai dil hame

ye dil jinki chaahat me paagal bana hai
unhe kya khabar hai hame kya hua hai
unhe kya pata kya hai haalat hamari
tadpati hai kaise mohabbat hamari
ye dil keh raha hai dhadkate dhadkate
vo aayenge ek din tadpate tadpate

hamare hain vo unko paa ke rahenge
agar mil na paaye to ham chhin lenge
to ham chhin lenge, ham chhin lenge
ham kuchh nahi unke bina
marte hain ham jinke liye kaise chale unko pata
dil hi agar ek dard ho to kya kare dil ki dava
ai dil hame

Tell me, oh heart, what must I know?
For those we die for, how will they ever know?
Tell me, oh heart, what must I know?
If the heart itself is the ache, what then can heal it?
For those we die for, how will they ever know?
Oh, heart, tell me.

Those we nurtured in dreams, in slumber’s embrace,
The coolness of eyes, the heart’s own space,
We too are restless, they must believe,
Yet they understand so little we weave,
From the world's gaze, we kept them safe and sound,
Hidden deep within each heartbeat we found.

That face, let no mirror reflect,
Let no other, not even God, inspect,
Not even God, not even God,
This is the heart's plea,
For those we die for, how will they ever know?
If the heart itself is the ache, what then can heal it?
Oh, heart, tell me.

This heart, in whose longing, madness took hold,
What do they know of the stories untold?
What do they know of the state we endure?
How our love, it fiercely burns pure?
This heart now whispers, with each frantic beat,
One day, they will come, and their own hearts will meet.

Ours they are, and ours they shall be,
If not by grace, then by taking, we’ll see,
By taking, we'll see, by taking we'll see,
Without them, we are nothing, you see,
For those we die for, how will they ever know?
If the heart itself is the ache, what then can heal it?
Oh, heart, tell me.