Lal Salam, Lal Salam, Lal Salam
The cry of the poor was once enjoyed by the rich
The song has risen, the cry has ceased
In his fire, the people's pain found peace
Lal Salam, Lal Salam, Lal Salam
Born from toil and grown in strife
He carved his path through a worker's life
In the land where coir met bleeding hand
He stood for justice, took a stand
Fallen and risen, again and again
Like the monsoon tide in Alappuzha's rain
Lal Salam, Lal Salam, Lal Salam
The cry of the lowly is the high one's psalm
The song has risen, the cry has ceased
In his fire, the people's pain found peace
Lal Salam, Lal Salam, Lal Salam
The water spilt, the blood, the flame
From that soil, rose a mighty name
He shook the earth, split lies apart
A beating drum, a lion's heart
The trumpet sounded, the red flag flew
With every shout, the old world knew
Brothers in arms, he raised them high
He led them strong, he made them cry
Not from fear, but from the fire
Of dreams awakened, marching higher
Lal Salam, Lal Salam, Lal Salam
The voice of the voiceless, the people's calm
Born, lived, led, and died
But his dream still walks with the rising tide
Unite, rise up — with heart and palm
Lal Salam, Lal Salam, Lal Salam
The leader is gone, but the song remains…
In every village, in every name…
Lal Salam…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem