uajle samay ki kali chadar me
muh chupaye insan ro raha hai insan ro raha hai
insan ro raha hai
sahmi si baibal hai geeta sisak rahi hai
kuran ro raha hai

kahi khilte hai phul kahi udhti hai dhul
maut or jindagi ka sawal hai
haye re kya jamane ka hal hai
badnam fariste kya kare
kahi khilte hai phul kahi udhti hai dhul

koi mahlo do mahlo me hasta rahe
koi futpath ko bhi tarasta rahe
char paise kahi hai jawani ka mol
sona chandi kisi pe barasta rahe
kaisi do rangi dunia ki chal hai
badnam fariste kya kare
kahi khilte hai phul kahi udhti hai dhul

aadmiyat sharafat or ilmo hunar
thokre khate firte hai sab dar badar
koi batlaye aakhir ye jaye kaha
band inke liye hai khuda ke bhi ghar
aaj sachai gum se nihal hai
badnam fariste kya kare
kahi khilte hai phul kahi udhti hai dhul

ye nayi reet duniya me kya ban gayi
muflishi or garibi khata ban gayi
jindagi aaj ke aadmi ke liye
aisa lagta hai jaise saja ban gayi
fir bhi hum tum hai jinda kamal hai
badnam fariste kya kare
kahi khilte hai phul kahi udhti hai dhul
maut or jindagi ka sawal hai
haye re kya jamane ka hal hai
badnam fariste kya kare
kahi khilte hai phul kahi udhti hai dhul

Beneath the dark cloak of a brightened age,
Humanity weeps, its face concealed, a tear-stained stage.
Humanity weeps.
The trembling Bible, the Gita’s sob,
The Quran weeps.

Where blooms unfurl, dust devils rise,
A question hangs: of life, of dying skies.
Oh, the plight of this age, a shadowed guise!
What can the disgraced angels do?
Where blooms unfurl, dust devils rise.

Some laugh in palaces, high and grand,
While others crave a pavement, a helping hand.
Youth's worth, a few coins, they say,
Gold and silver on some descend, a lavish spray.
A world of dual hues, a deceptive sway.
What can the disgraced angels do?
Where blooms unfurl, dust devils rise.

Humanity, virtue, knowledge, and art,
Stumble and wander, torn and apart.
Tell me, where can they find their release?
Even the divine gates, a bolted peace.
Today, truth drowned in sorrow's feast.
What can the disgraced angels do?
Where blooms unfurl, dust devils rise.

What custom has this new world designed?
Poverty and want, a fault defined.
For man today, life’s bitter sting,
A punishment, it seems, the days now bring.
Yet, we breathe, we live, a wonder thing!
What can the disgraced angels do?
Where blooms unfurl, dust devils rise.
A question hangs: of life, of dying skies.
Oh, the plight of this age, a shadowed guise!
What can the disgraced angels do?
Where blooms unfurl, dust devils rise.