My friends will be waiting,
For my new year greetings wishing them happiness.
Oh my friend! How can I wish happy New Year to you,
As yet I still have to guard my heritage under constant threat of humiliation.
The turban of my Father is rolling somewhere in the dust,
It might be waste in the dark corner of some police station.
After the murders of our mothers and sisters, tears have been unceasing.
Our innocent boys who are soft as flowers lie beneath the bridges, below the trees murdered in false encounters.
Our sister's honour remains unavenged since the Delhi massacre.
I am in great and constant grief like the tender butterfly that flutters and turns white with fear,
Whose wings have turned grey with the passing of time.
In this struggle I may not be recognised and may get lost,
And in this dreadful situation in what way can I then convey my New year greetings to you?
We will wait for better times,
Then shall I send such greetings,
When Spring visits our garden.
