When will this thirst for freedom slake?
When will our love of slavery die?
When will our Mother's fetters break?
When will our tribulations cease?
Wasn't there another Bharat
Reared by our noble Aryan race?
Lead us, Aryan, to victory!
Is't right we remain slaves?
Are famine and disease alone our share?
For whom, then, are the laurels and fruits?
Will you abandon us, your suppliants?
Can the mother cast her child aside?
Brave warrior! Aryan Lord!
Thou destroyer of the demon-race,
Where is your dharma? Isn't yours the duty
To revive us, and chase Fear away?
[Translated into English By S. Prema]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem