palko se chaand kaat ke pehro me raat kheti hu
dil uchhal ke rukta hai, main lapak ke thaam leti hu
ye jo main kehti hu wo main naa kehti hu
jaane ye kya ho gaya

palko se chaand kaat ke pehro me raat kheta hu
dil uchhal ke rukta hai, main lapak ke thaam leta hu
ye jo main kehta hu wo main naa kehta hu
jaane ye kya ho gaya
palko se chaand kaat ke pehro me raat kheta hu

ha baadalo ko noch ke tera aks bunti rehti hu
waadiyo ke haatho pe tera naam chunta rehti hu
o baadalo ko noch ke tera aks bunti rehta hu
waadiyo ke haatho pe tera naam chunta rehta hu
chhap tere pairo ki nazro pe ukerna
zulfo ki imamilat ungaliyo se pherna
ye jo main kehti hu wo main naa kehti hu
jaane ye kya ho gaya
palko se chaand kaat ke pehro me raat kheti hu

ha din utar ke aankho se mera ret pe tik jaata hai
tu phisal ke baaho se jo nazar naa aata hai
o din utar ke aankho se mera ret pe tik jaata hai
tu phisal ke baaho se meri jo nazar naa aata hai

saanso pe ruke ruke aitbaar rakhti hu, kya
khidkiyo pe baandh ke tera intzaar rakhti hu
aahat pe mudta hu dhadkan se judta hu
jaane ye kya ho gaya
palko se chaand kaat ke pehro me raat kheta hu
dil uchhal ke rukta hai, main lapak ke thaam leta hu
ye jo main kehta hu wo main na kehti hu
jaane ye kya ho gaya

palko se chaand kaat ke pehro me raat kheti hu

From lashes, I shear the moon, planting night in endless rows,
My heart leaps, a startled bird, which I, outstretched, enclose.
What I speak, I do not speak,
A mystery takes hold.

From lashes, I shear the moon, cultivating night's dark loam,
My heart leaps, a startled bird, in my swift grasp, it's home.
What I say, I do not say,
A riddle takes its form.
From lashes, I shear the moon.

The day descends, from my eyes, grounded in the sand's embrace,
You slip from my arms, unseen, lost in the vacant space.
Oh, the day descends, from my eyes, grounded in the sand's embrace,
You slip from my arms, unseen, vanished from this place.

On breaths, I hold belief, so fragile, frail, and slight,
At windows, bind your waiting, through the fading of the light.
At the echo, I turn, to my pulse I yearn,
A mystery takes hold.
From lashes, I shear the moon, planting night in endless rows,
My heart leaps, a startled bird, which I, outstretched, enclose.
What I speak, I do not speak,
A mystery takes hold.

From lashes, I shear the moon, planting night in endless rows.