Warkrora da shamalo pa ghumaar ke Rasha kawee da gulono lewanai... She walks like a branch of the Kandahar vine, Ankala (ankle bells) whispering secrets of the shrine. Her braid is a river of midnight and honey, Her eyes are the loot of a sun that’s still sunny.
(When you dance – it’s the war of roses When you sway – it’s the hue of golden poses Sister, dance your own rose with honor Pashtun freedom – the arrival of flowers...)
(Translation:) My night is colored by the shade of your eyes You are Laila, you are a glimpse of heaven's prize When you dance – it’s the war of roses When you sway – it’s the hue of golden poses She spins, and the dust turns to saffron and smoke, Her dupatta – a flag that no empire broke. Each turn is a letter from the frontier’s lost throat, Each gesture a Pashto unwritten, remote.
Kana che ta nachee – da rogano jang de Da khkulay ta nachee – da da zarghuno rang de Wrora de, khpala khkule ra da nango sara Da Pukhto nijat – da Gulona rasha...