O the
much sought after Reality!
Some time appear in material form. As innumerable prostrations restless in my
humble forehead are. Join the assembly’s celebrations, you are a song, be
heard. What good are melodies which veiled in guitar’s frets are. Do not
jealously protect them; your mirrors are the mirrors. Which would be dearer in
the Maker’s eye if they broken are? During circumambulation the moth exclaimed,
“Those past effects. Neither in your story of pathos, nor in my tale of love is”. My wretched sins could not get shelter
anywhere except. When they in the shade of Thy Gracious Forgiveness were.
Neither Love has that warmth nor does Beauty have that humor. Neither that
restlessness in. Neither Ghaznavis nor those curls in the hair locks of Ayz are.
Whenever I went into prostration a voice came from the earth. Your heart is in
materialism no rewards for your prayers are.
Era
has come for openness,
so Beloved’s Sight will be common. The secret which silence had concealed, will
be unveiled now. O Cup-bearer! Time has gone when wine was taken secretly. The
whole world will become a wine-seller shop, everyone will be drinking, Those
who once wandered insane, will return to habitations, Lovers’ wandering will be
the same but deserts will be new, The Hijaz’ silence has proclaimed to the
waiting ear at last, The agreements(promises) established with desert’s inhabitants will be re-affirmed, Which coming
out of deserts had overturned the Roman Empire, I have heard from the Qudsis
(Angels) that the same 'Lion' will be re-awakened, As the cup‐bearer
mentioned me in the wine‐drinkers’
assembly, The tavern’s sage said, “He is insolent, he will be disgraced”, O
Western world’s inhabitants, God’s world is not a shop!, What you are
considering genuine, will be regarded counterfeit(fake), Your civilization will
commit suicide with its own dagger(knife), The nest built on the weak branch
will not be permanent, stable, The caravan of the feeble ants will make fleet
of rose petals, However strong the ocean waves’ tumult(uprising) be, it will
cross the ocean, The Lala (a bird), shows its spots to every flower-bud in the
garden. Knowing that by doing this it will be among the Love haters, O Sight!
That was the One you showed us as a thousand, If this is your state what will be
your credibility? As I told the turtledove one day the free of here are
treading on dust! The buds started saying that I must be the knower of the
garden’s secrets! There are thousands of God’s Lovers, who are roaming in the
wilderness, I shall adore the one who will be the lover of God’s people, This
is the world’s custom, O Heart! Even winking is a sin, What will our respect be
if you will be restless here? In the darkness of the night I shall take out my
tired caravan, My sigh will be shedding sparks my breath will be throwing
flames, If there is nothing but show in the aim of your life, Your destruction
from the world will be in a breath like spark, Do not ask about the condition
of Iqbal, he is in the same state, Sitting somewhere by the wayside he must be
waiting for oppression!
The
Portrait of Anguish
Why does this custom of silencing exist in your assembly? My tongue is
tantalized to talk in this assembly.
For our brothers Is this trouble not enough, to ruin one what else should be,
if you are some one’s friend then why needs heaven be his enemy? Delve into
your soul and there seek our life’s buried tracks;Will you not be mine? Then be
not mine, be your own right!
The Portrait of Anguish Tasveer-e-Dard: I understand that the world is like
play ground as it is looking the game all around the world since a long time I
am feeling and teaching and learning for the promotion of Urdu language and
literature as world fame poet Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib said that the deserts
ruined in heaps of sand, before me the oceans drowned. Never think for you I’ll
fade; just see by me your shade. The world is my play ground, always ripped are
two halves of myself Goblin pulls me and bars me the Elf. The world is my play
ground, Limbs are numb but ram is not, don’t let the gush of tipple drought,
the world is my play ground.
So that my story is not indebted to the patience of being heard, My silence is
my talk, my speechlessness is my speech, Why does this custom of silencing
exist in your assembly?, My tongue is tantalized to talk in this assembly ,
Some leaves were picked up by the tulip, some by the narcissus, some by the
rose, My story is scattered around everywhere in the garden , The turtle‐doves, parrots, and nightingales pilfered away, The
garden’s denizens jointly robbed away my plaintive way, O Candle! Drip like
tears from the eye of the moth, Head to foot pathos I am, full of longing is my
story, O God! What is the pleasure of living so in this world?, Neither the
eternal life, nor the sudden death is mine, This is not only my wailing, but is
that of the entire garden, I am a rose, to me every rose’ autumn is my autumn,
“In this grief‐stricken land,
in life‐long spell of the caravan’s bell
I am, From the palpitating heart’s bounties the silent clamor I have“, In the
world’s garden unaware of pleasant company I am, Whom happiness still mourns,
that hapless person I am, Speech itself sheds tears at my ill luck, Silent
word, longing for an eager ear I am, I am a mere handful of scattered dust but
I do not know, Whether Alexander or a mirror or just dust and scum I am,
Despite all this my existence is the Divine Purpose, Embodiment of light is
whose reality, that darkness I am, I am a treasure, concealed in the wilderness
dust, No one knows where I am, or whose wealth I am?, My insight is not
obligated to the stroll of existence, That small world I am whose sovereign
myself I am, Neither wine, nor cup‐bearer, nor
ecstasy, nor goblet I am, But the truth of everything in the existence’ tavern
I am, My heart’s mirror shows me both world’s secrets, I relate exactly what I
witness before my eyes, I am bestowed with such speech among the elegant speakers,
That the birds of the ‘Arsh’s roof are concordant with me, This also is an
effect of my tumultuous love, That my heart’s mirrors are Destiny’s confidante,
Your spectacle makes me shed tears, O India!, Your tales are admonitory among
all the tales, Conferring the wailing on me is like conferring everything,
Since eternity Destiny’s pen has put me where all your mourners are, O gardener
do not leave even the rose‐petals’ trace in
this garden!, By your misfortune war preparations are afoot among the
gardeners, The sky has kept thunderbolts concealed up its sleeve, Garden’s
nightingales should not slumber in their nests, Listen to my call, O imprudent
one! This is something which, The birds in gardens are reciting like the daily
prayers, Think of the homeland, O ignorant one! Hard times are coming,
Conspiracies for your destruction are afoot in the heavens, Pay attention to
what is happening and what is going to happen, What good there is in repeating
the tales of the old glories?, How long will you remain silent? Create taste
for complaint!, You should be on the earth, so your cries be in the heavens!,
You will be annihilated if you do not understand, O people of India!, Even your
tales will disappear from the world’s chronicles, This is the law of Nature,
this is the order of Nature, Those who tread dynamism’s path, are the darlings
of Nature, I will surely exhibit all my hidden wounds today, I will surely
change assembly to a garden with blood‐mixed tears, I
have to light every heart’s candle with hidden pathos, I will surely create
bright illumination in your darkness, So that love‐cognizant hearts be created like rose‐buds, I will surely scatter around my handful of
dust in the garden, If stringing these scattered pearls in a single rosary, Is
difficult, I will surely make this difficult task easy, O Companion! Leave me
alone in the soul-searching effort, As I will surely exhibit this mark of the
ardent Love, I will show the world what my eyes have seen, I will surely make
you also bewildered like a mirror, The discerning eye sees everything covered
in veils, It does see the exigencies of the nature of times, You have not
acquainted your heart with pleasure of dignity, You have passed your entire
life in humility like foot‐prints, You
always remained entangled inside the assembly, but
Have not acquainted yourself with the world outside the assembly, You have
continued loving the charm of material beauties, But you have never seen your
own elegance in this mirror, Give up prejudice O imprudent one! In the world’s
glass house, They are your own pictures which you have taken as evil ones,
Become embodiment of the wail of tyranny of life’s pathos!
You have concealed sound in your pocket like the rue seed, Clarity of heart has
nothing to do with external decorations, O imprudent one! You have applied
myrtle to mirror’s palm, Not only the earth even the sky is bewailing your
imprudence, It is outrageous that you have twisted the Qur’an’s lines!, To what
purpose is your claim to monotheism!, You have made the idol of self conceit
your deity, What did you see even if you saw Yusuf in the well?, O imprudent
one! You have made the Absolute confined, You are greedy of flowery style even
at the pulpit, Your advice also is a form of storytelling, Show that
universally illuminating Beauty to your weeping eye, Which renders the moth
highly agitated, which makes the dew weep like eye, Mere seeing is not its
purpose! O greedy one, Some One has made the human eye with some purpose, Even
if he viewed the whole world, what did he see?, Jam could not see his own
reality in the wine cup , Sectarianism is the tree, prejudice is its fruit,
This fruit caused expulsion of Adam from Paradise, Not even a single rose‐petal could rise by sun’s attraction, It is the
longing for elegance which raises the dew, Those wounded by Love do not wander
in search of cure, These wounded ones themselves create their own cure, The
heart gets complete illumination by the spark of Love, The Tur’s flower bed is
raised from the Love’s small seed, Every malady’s cure is to remain wounded
with Longing’s sword, Wound’s remedy is to remain free from obligation to
stitching, With the Bekhudi’s wine up to the celestial world is my flight, From
disappearance of color I have learnt to remain fragrance, How can the weeping
eye refrain from homeland’s lamentation?, The ‘ibadah for the poet’s eye is to
remain constantly with ablution, To what purpose should we make our nest in the
rose‐branch, Ah! How can we live with
constant disgrace in the garden, If you understand, independence is veiled in
Love, Slavery is to remain imprisoned in the net of schism, Contentment is what
keeps the cup submerged in water, You should also remain like the bubble in the
stream, It is best for you not to remain indifferent to yours own, O apathetic
person! If you want to remain alive in the world, Soul‐invigorating wine is the Love of the human race, It
has taught me to remain ecstatic without the wine cup and the pitcher, Sick
nations have been cured only through Love, Nations have warded off their
adversity through Love, The expanse of Love is at once foreign land and
homeland, This wilderness is the cage, the nest, as well as the garden, Love is
the only stage which is the stage as well as the wilderness, It is the bell,
the caravan, the leader as well as the robber, Everybody calls it an illness, but
it is such an illness, In which the cure for all ills and misfortunes is
concealed, The heart’s pathos in a way is to become embodiment of Light, If
this moth burns it is also the assembly’s candle, The Beauty is just one but
appears in everything, It is Shirin, the sky, as well as the mountain digger,
Distinction of sects and governments has destroyed nations, Is there any
concern for the homeland in my compatriot’s hearts?, Prolonging the tale of my
woes calls for silence, otherwise, The tongue in my mouth as well as the
ability to speak is, “Take not this meaningful tale as related by me is, The
story was endless, but related with silence is.”
Phool ki Patti Sy Kut Sakta Hai Heeray Ka Jigar, Mard E Nadan Pr Kalam E Narm O
Nazuk Bai Asar, The heart of diamond can cut by the leaf of flower, but soft
talk is unimpressive for an unwise.
Though the mosque was built overnight by the believers, our heart being old
sinner for years devout could not be, What a beautiful message did Sanusi give
to King Faisal, By descent you Hijazi are, but in heart Hijazi could not be,
Though eyes become wet there is no pleasure is in this weeping, If by mixture
of affliction’s blood tears pink could not be, Iqbal is a good advisor,
fascinates the heart in moments, He did become hero in talk, but one in deeds
he could not be.
I’ll tell you truth, oh human, if I may make so bold!, These tradition in your
minds, these old traditions have grown old, To hate your fellow‐mortals is all they teach you, while, Our God too
sets his preachers to scold and to revile; Sickened, from both yours all
traditions I have run, Alike our preachers’ sermons and your fond myths I shun.
In every graven image you fancied God: I see in each speck of my country’s poor
dust, divinity. Come, let us lift suspicion’s thick curtains once again, unite
once more the sundered, wipe clean division’s stain. Too long has lain deserted
the heart’s warm habitation, Come, build here in our homeland an altar’s new
foundation, And rise a spire more lofty than any of this globe, With high
pinnacle touching the hem of heaven’s robe! The hearts of all who worship,
pouring them wine of love: Firm strength, calm peace, shall blend in the hymns
the votary sings— for from love comes salvation to all earth’s living things.
India’s Command to India’s Youths: Rise, and from their slumber wake the poor
ones of My world!, Shake the walls and windows of the mansions of the great!,
Kindle with the fire of faith the slow blood of the slaves!, Make the fearful
sparrow bold to meet the falcon’s hate!, Close the hour approaches of the
kingdom of the poor—, Every imprint of the past find and annihilate!, Find the
field whose harvest is no peasant’s daily bread—, Garner in the furnace every
ripening ear of wheat!, Banish from the house of God the mumbling priest whose
prayers, Like a veil creation from Created separate!, God by man’s
prostrations, by man’s vows idols cheated—, Quench at once My shrine and their
fane the sacred light!, Rear for me another temple, build its walls with mud—,
Wearied of their columned marbles, sickened is My sight!, All their fine new
world a workshop filled with brittle glass—, Go! My poet of the East to madness
dedicates.
