Music in a kiosk deep in Amreekaa
Do you hear the trees giving us their kirpaa (blessings)
Hurry up and take this kaimraa (camera) out of your pocket
The clouds turn into a lake of sheesha: (mirror)

I carried sevaadaar (volunteer)
To film their story, mat fikar (don’t worry)
You who are an exile, a shahireeat (citizen)
I’ll be your advocate, between us love like a shikaait (complaint)

Our story is legendary, our feelings namkeen (spicy)
I wrote it in a hundred thousand boleean (sung couplets popular in Punjab)
I walked down the sticky streets of Barmingham:
To spin each sweaty reel of our filam

I come to you in my chaste sailaanee (costume)
Grant me some of the fragrance of azaadee (of freedom)
The sands of life tumble down my chest, like the reflection of shantee (peace)
I evaporate in the humid summer air, come and kiss me hey sahelee (friend)

On the horizontal path of joy a vaaje vaale (orchestra)
Accompany us aseen saare (all of us)
The road to the village is khatarnaak (dangerous)
At least as much as the intranquil ugliness of the talaak (divorce)

A roadblock in Jhang, stretched ma shanaakhte kaard (identity card)
The dark young cop cries tears of steel, dhanvaad! (thank you!)
In my eyes the quiet glow of a memory like a soft saahib voice
The moon sets like the dazzling insignificance of the matlab (sense) of our senses