o phoolo ke desh wali ang ang tera phoolo wala
jaise gulabo ki ho mala
panchhi si chahke faslo si lahke
sarso si phule champa si mahke
aanchal me bijli nain me chtalka
chal me hirni ki chanchalta

ji chahta hai tujhko bithakar
patjhad ka dard kahunga
ab to mai chup na rahunga
tu chir yowan annat ho
kyun ki tum ritu basant ho
mujhko tumhara hi hai intzar
kya tumko malum hai
patjhad ko kitna hoga
basant ki ritu se pyar

O, land of flowers, your every limb a bloom,
A garland woven, dispelling gloom.
Like birdsong, you sing, like harvests, you sway,
Like mustard fields, you bloom, like champa, you play.
In your veil, lightning, in your eyes, a spark,
In your gait, the deer's restless arc.

My heart yearns to hold you, to share,
The autumn's ache, the unspoken prayer.
No longer silent, my spirit will rise,
May your youth be eternal, before my eyes.
For you are the spring, the rebirth and grace,
And for you, my soul finds its resting place.
Do you know, my love, the depth of desire,
How autumn loves spring, burning with fire?