Where the mind is without fear and the' money notes' are held high
Where culprits are free
Where the world has been broken up into fragments
By narrow Caste walls
Where words come out from the depth of deceit
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards corruption
Where the murky stream of treason has found a new way
Into the dreamy land of good habit
Where the mind is led forward by them
Into ever-widening drought of good thought and action
From that Hell of Slavery, my Father, let my country arise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem