है अपना दिल तो आवारा

My heart seems to be a wanderer. To whom will it take a liking, I wonder.

Many beautiful ones have called and embraced me. All their attempts to explain feelings were lost to my heart. My poor heart is too innocent to understand.

My heart is strange and seemingly mad. It has no attachment, no roots with the earth, and is distant from the heavens. It is like a shooting star.

I have seen the world and I have everyone’s support. But this heart of mine is like a gypsy, always wandering without attachment.

And even if it agrees to like someone, no priest can be found to match. Whenever it has taken a gamble, it has lost, rejected by both worlds.