These cannons, tanks, bombers and guns -
where did you get them?
At whom are they aimed?
Are these your gifts from the land of Waris and Iqbal?
Raging forth from the fields of Nanak,
you want now to burn the house of Kabir?

Till yesterday you were slaves, so were we.
The season of freedom had come after a shower of blood.

Only the dawn's first breeze has moved,
flowers have not yet opened their eyes,
the spring has yet to smile.
who knows how many blind stars - listless eyes -
how many pale roses - empty palms -
still crave for colour and light?

What else do we have beside this shared grief?

Together we should have sought the cure,
planted the garden with our own hands
and, sharing each other's sorrow,
celebrated the building of new homes.

But I see a strange look in your eyes;
your steps lurch-what do they seek?
On whom will you test your rapier's edge?
This is not a mere boundary, as you think;
it marks the site of our body, heart and soul.
Beautiful, tall, youthful, sacred, chaste,
it is known as Kashmir, paradise on earth;
its name is Delhi; its name, Punjab;
we often call it with affection, Lucknow.

It must be defiled by your sword's lips.
Tread here with respect , this is Ghalib's land.
Here is Meer's grave and Nizami's, Kaki's and Chisti's.
Prostrate your blades on this holy ground.

Our hearts abound with friendship and love.
Our souls tremble on your behalf.
But we are prepared - how sad a thought -
to discourage all lusting hands with swords.

There, on the other side, are sisters and brothers
and others who share our memories of drunken nights.

There are some who shared our gibbets and cells;
still others who were mocked, like us, in the streets.
Their lips still wear a well remembered smile,
their eyes hold dreams of ancient days,
their hearts are aflame with the future's hope.

They are all our own, who now seem strangers.

On this side, too, are old comrades;
we do not lack friends either.
Thousands of years bear witness to this fact.
Here they all stand, their breasts radiant with wounds,
their hearts smitten with the memories of Heer's land.
Their thoughts fixed on Ravi, Jhelum and Chenab.

Between you and us rage rivers of fire - oceans of our blood -
tall, frowning barriers of hate.
With a glance, however, we can tear them down.

We can forget, forgive the cruel past,
and again embrace you.
But first you will have to break your swords
and cleanse out these bloodied garments.
After that we shall be one, not strangers.

You bring us flowers from the garden of Lahore.
We bring you light from the dawn of Banaras-
freshness of the Himalayan airs-
And then let us ask together :
                            Who is the enemy?