The futile stray dogs of these streets,
Bestowed with a bent for begging,
The curses of an age their wealth,
A world of whacks their earnings.
No rest at night, no easy morning;
Dirt their home and drains their dwelling.
If one snarls, set him on another—
A piece of bread turns brother against brother.
The ones who lap up every kick,
The ones who die when hunger bores them stiff.
Should these wretched lift their heads with pride,
Best forget all arrogance, mankind.
They’d make the world their own if they desired.
Chew up their masters’ bones, if they aspired.
Someone make them feel their shame.
Someone go pull on their sleeping tails.
Yeh galiyon ke aawaaraa bekaar kutte
Ke bakshaa gayaa jinko zauq-e-gadaai,
Zamaane ki phatkaar sarmaayaa unkaa
Jahaan bhar ki dhatkaar unki kamaai.
Na aaraam shab ko na raahat sawere;
Ghilaazat mein ghar, naaliyon mein basere.
Jo bigde to ek doosare se ladaa-do;
Zaraa ek roti kaa tukdaa dikhaa-do.
Yeh har ek ki thokarein khaanewaale,
Yeh faaqon se uktaake mar jaanewaale,
Yeh mazloom makhlookh gar sar uthaa-e
To insaan sab sarkashi bhool jaaye.
Yeh chahein to duniyaa ko apnaa banaalein,
Yeh aaqaaon ki haddiyaan tak chabaadein.
Koi inko ehsaas-e-zillat dilaa-de,
Koi inki soyee hui dum hilaa-de.