pan khaye saiyan hamaro sanvali suratiya hoth lal-lal
hay-hay malamal ka kurata
malamal ke kurate pe chhit lal-lal pan khaye saiyan hamaro

hamane mangai suramedani le aya zalim banaras ka zarada
aa apani hi duniya me khoya rahe wo
hamare dil ki na puchhe bedarda puchhe bedarda
pan khaye saiyan hamaro
hoy-hoy sanvali suratiya hoth lal-lal
hay-hay malamal ka kurata
malamal ke kurate pe chhit lal-lal pan khaye saiyan hamaro

bagiya gun-gun payal chhun-chhun
chupake se ai hai rut matavali
bagiya gun-gun payal chhun-chhun
chupake se ai hai rut matavali
aa khil gai kaliyan duniya jane
lekin na jane bagiya ka mali bagiya ka mali
pan khaye saiyan hamaro
hoy-hoy sanvali suratiya hoth lal-lal
hay-hay malamal ka kurata
malamal ke kurate pe chhit lal-lal pan khaye saiyan hamaro

kha ke gilori sham se unghe
so jaye wo diya-bati se pahale
kha ke gilori sham se unghe
so jaye wo diya-bati se pahale
ha angan-atari me ghabarai dolun
chori ke dar se dil mora dahale dil mora dahale
pan khaye saiyan hamaro sanvali suratiya hoth lal-lal
hay-hay malamal ka kurata
malamal ke kurate pe chhit lal-lal pan khaye saiyan hamaro

My love, a dark face, lips aflame, betel-stained,
Oh, the soft muslin shirt he wears,
Upon it, crimson specks, a painted stain,
My love, who feasts on paan.

I craved kohl, a mirror to my soul,
He brought instead, the harshness of Benaras's zarda,
Lost in his own world's hold,
He does not ask, this heartless one,
The ache I hold.
My love, who feasts on paan,
Oh, his dark face, lips aflame,
Oh, the soft muslin shirt he wears,
Upon it, crimson specks, a painted stain,
My love, who feasts on paan.

The garden hums, anklets tinkle,
A heady season steals upon us, shy,
The garden hums, anklets tinkle,
A heady season steals upon us, shy,
The world knows only blooming blooms,
But knows not the gardener's eye,
The gardener's eye.
My love, who feasts on paan,
Oh, his dark face, lips aflame,
Oh, the soft muslin shirt he wears,
Upon it, crimson specks, a painted stain,
My love, who feasts on paan.

He nods, betel-sated, from dusk's approach,
Falls asleep before the lamps are lit,
He nods, betel-sated, from dusk's approach,
Falls asleep before the lamps are lit,
I pace the courtyard, the upper room, distraught,
My heart trembles with a thief's own grit,
A thief's own grit.
My love, who feasts on paan, his dark face, lips aflame,
Oh, the soft muslin shirt he wears,
Upon it, crimson specks, a painted stain,
My love, who feasts on paan.