neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai

khil khilate huye
apna daman uthate huye
bachcho ke panw ki
dhul ka kaarwan
gaon ki har gali
apne pairon ka zanjeer hai
gaon ka har makaan
apne raste ki diwar hai
neend ke gaon me
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai

ek anguhha lipete huye
waqt baitha hain dehliz par
baans ke jhund se
bachti huye reh guzar
okali ke kinaare pe bithi buju karti
mashjid ke ek minaar par
kabki atki hui ek ajaan
jiska sannata talwar ki dhaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai

neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai

main bhi bargad ke
saayein mein baithi huyi
apni yaado ki parchhaiya bechlo
mere lafzo mein hai us
needasi kahani ka ras
jis pe chalta na tha
kachche aangan ka bas
nimkiyo ke kade satlade
jo na jaane the kis ke liye
aaj bhi kis kadar yaad hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai
neend ke gaon mein
aaj yaado ka bazaar hai

In slumber's village,
memories throng the market square.
Laughing, bright,
lifting skirts of light,
a caravan of dust
from children's feet.
Each lane, a chain
around those weary feet,
each house a wall
that hems the path we meet.
In slumber's village,
memories throng the market square.

A cloth about the head,
time lingers at the door,
the path, it weaves and winds,
escaping bamboo's roar.
Beside the mortar, sits a woman,
chanting low,
upon the minaret,
a call to prayer, long ago,
its silence, like a blade, a blow.
In slumber's village,
memories throng the market square.

In slumber's village,
memories throng the market square.
Beneath the banyan's shade,
I sit and trace the ghosts of days,
within my words, the nectar lies,
of a forgotten tale,
where the uneven yard had no say,
salty, crunchy treats,
that weren't for anyone,
yet still, how they remain.
In slumber's village,
memories throng the market square.
In slumber's village,
memories throng the market square.