From the defrosting flake of my Snow;
From the rusted strand of my Saffron;
From the abscised leaves of my Chinar;
From the drips of ale of my Jhelum;
I will rise; I will rise
Wailing for my martyred son,
From the cry of a mother, I will rise;
Witnessing my father’s death,
From the ire of a son, I will rise;
Yearning for my husband’s return,
From the contemplation of a Half Widow, I will rise;
I am the Undying Blaze among my youth,
I will rise; I will rise
From the dust of thousands of my unmarked graves;
From the beads of blood of my kiths and kins ;
From the unrelenting resentment of my youth;
From the dragging i of your PAVA smoke, yet as dynamite,
I will rise; I will rise
Shoot me, kill me, maim me or even blind me,
Withstanding all the odds,
I will rise; I will rise
From my grief, my anger, my tears and my silence,
I will rise; I will rise
For I am the Land of my Martyrs
No matter how, forsure ,
I will rise;
I will rise;
I will rise.