assembled at the road,
with dreams of a better future
singing a poem of a great poet,
Dr. Allama Muhammad Iqbal.
Prayers on my lips are the dreams
may my life be like that of a candle,
may I be one that eliminates darkness,
may I be a source of light everywhere,
may I be glory for my homeland,
may I spring as a flower of the garden.
The saplings that are dreaming to be sprung as flowers
read in a school that has only two rooms
one is the office and the other for the Head Mistress.
Classes run beneath a tree, there are no play grounds.
The saplings will have to grow as a plant first
for springing as colorful flowers in the future.
Where is the ground for it?
I know one by one all will be lifted from the school
by their poor parents.
Some of them will be seen working with a mechanic
some will become beggars,
and a few street snatchers.
The parents are the voters who elect their representatives
they all are abused in one way or another
still they vote and elect one
who is responsible for their adverse condition.
The punctured tube of my motor cycle has been repaired
by a boy of nine or ten,
whose master has been abusing him to be so lazy.
Good bye boy! Thank you very much.
I know one day you will become a master
abusing another boy for his laziness,
the best future your fate can give to you!
You will vote to the son of one,
who has been voted and elected by your parents.