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 dedicate.
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.
