A million Heers, crying.

Today, I call Waris Shah,
“Speak from inside your grave”
And turn, today,
the book of love’s next affectionate page
Once, when one daughter of Punjab had cried;
you had written a wailing saga
Today, a million daughters,
cry to you, Waris Shah

Rise! O’ narrator of the grieving;
rise! look at your Punjab
Today, fields are lined with corpses,
and blood fills the Chenab

This fertile land is sprouting,
venom from every pore
The sky is turning red
from endless cries of gore

Our wedding beds are boats,
their logs have cast away
Our hanging swing,
the Pipal tree has broken in disarray
Lost is the flute, which once,
blew sounds of the heart
Ranjha’s brothers, today,
no longer know this art
Blood rained on our land;
drenching graves to the core
Damsels of love, today,
sit crying at their door

Today everyone is ‘Qaido’
thieves of beauty and ardor
Where can we find, today,
another Warish Shah, once more

Today, I call Waris Shah,
“Speak from inside your grave”
And turn, today,
the book of love’s next affectionate page