Don’t walk behind bright and beauty because that is a castle in the sky

Na Ja Zahir-Parasti Par Agr kuch Akl-o-Danish Ho,

Chamakta Jo Nazar Aata Vo sab Sona Nai Hota.

            Don’t believe in what is manifest if you are rational because all that glitters is not gold. In modern times, people can be seen running after power to serve their self interests. No one seems to be concerned about humanity. India is no exception to this trend. This has become an age of ostentatious and selfish lifestyle which is associated by negative attitude towards fellow countrymen and the nation.

            There are some are so called Ashrafs or feudal minded Muslim leaders who have always been close to government and government institutions. They have been acting like contractors of the entire Muslim community and this can be seen particularly during elections when they bargain with the political parties as if all the Muslim votes are under their control.  mainly in every election selling to poor Muslims of India like scapegoat in the hand of political party of India and through this type of bargaining they earning high source of revenue, bread and butter and governments allotted palace, fort, Kothi and bungalows since 1947 while they are broker time server they are neither obedient for government and political party nor rescuer for poor Muslim of India but they are enthusiast of sin so that please shield yourself since the identical.

In this circumstances government should effort for marginal and deprived Indian Muslim those who are taking breath in the remotest vicinity of India like, Kisan Ganj, Araria Purnea and its isolated and outmost villages where a lot of people dying on account of snake serpent poison without medicine and foodstuff, living unprotected and homeless today because of the tyranny and inhuman act of hypothetical amalgam and feudal wits Muslim chief.

Hope our voice will reach to government and there will be commence of a new morning for the downtrodden and exploited poor humanity of same surrounding area.

Feudal minded Muslim leaders are like this: 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?

Better than the entire world, is our Hindustan,
We are its nightingales, and it (is) our garden abode

If we are in an alien place, the heart remains in the homeland,
Know us to be only there where our heart is.

That tallest mountain, that shade-sharer of the sky,
It (is) our sentry, it (is) our watchman

In its lap frolic where thousands of ponds,
Whose vitality makes our garden the envy of Paradise.

O the flowing waters of the Ganges, do you remember that day
when our caravan first disembarked on your waterfront?

Religion does not teach us to bear ill-will among ourselves
we are of Hind, our homeland is Hindustan.

In a world in which ancient Greece, Egypt, and Rome have all vanished without trace
our own attributes (name and sign) live on today.

Such is our existence that it cannot be erased
Even though, for centuries, the cycle of time has been our enemy.

Iqbal! We have no confidante in this world
what does anyone know of our hidden pain?

There is no hope to be found
There is no resolution to be sought
Death is destined to arrive one day
But why does sleep fail to come all night
Once I was able to laugh at the predicament of my heart
Now I am unable to laugh at anything
Though I am aware of the rewards of prayer and virtue
But I am prohibited by my disposition
This matter is such that I am prevented from speaking of it
Otherwise what is there that I cannot speak of
Why shouldn’t I shout for I reminisce
Yet my voice fails to produce any sound
Though the wound of my heart cannot be seen
but my healer, even a trace of its smoldering is missing
I am in such a state, from where even I am
Unable to get any news of myself
I am dying of impatience in hope of death
Death appears,yet fails to arrive

How will you go to Kaaba, O Ghalib!
You do not bear any shame!

So that we should practice

Mother, I salute thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
bright with orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Dark fields waving Mother of might,
Mother free.
Glory of moonlight dreams,
Over thy branches and lordly streams,
Clad in thy blossoming trees,
Mother, giver of ease
Laughing low and sweet!
Mother I kiss thy feet,
Speaker sweet and low!
Mother, to thee I salute.
Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands
When the swords flash out in seventy million hands
And seventy million voices roar
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
With many strengths who art mighty and stored,
To thee I call Mother and Lord!
Though who savest, arise and save!
To her I cry who ever her foeman drove
Back from plain and Sea
And shook herself free.
Thou art wisdom, thou art law,
Thou art heart, our soul, our breath
Though art love divine, the awe
In our hearts that conquers death.
Thine the strength that nerves the arm,
Thine the beauty, thine the charm.
Every image made divine
In our temples is but thine.
Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen,
With her hands that strike and her
swords of sheen,
Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,
And the Muse a hundred-toned,
Pure and perfect without peer,
Mother lend thine ear,
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleems,
Dark of hue O candid-fair
In thy soul, with bejeweled hair
And thy glorious smile divine,
Loveliest of all earthly lands,
Showering wealth from well-stored hands!
Mother, mother mine!
Mother sweet, I salute thee,
Mother great and free!