English Translations - International Iqbal Society - Allama Iqbal

2021-02-19T16:43:27+00:00

Reason is either luminous, or it seeks proofs;
Proof—seeking reason is but an excess of wonder.

Thine alone is what I possess in this handful of dust;
And to keep it safe is beyond my power, O Lord.

My songs of lament were all inspired by Thee;
If they have reached the stars, it is no fault of mine.

Art Thou pleased, O Lord, with man’s imperfection?
Why repeat a flawed attempt, and make his shame eternal?

The Western ways have tried to make me a renegade;
But why are our mullahs a disgrace to Muslims?

Fools think man is a bondman of destiny;
But man has still the power to break the bonds of fate.

Thou hast Thy pantheon, and I have mine,
O Lord, Both have idols of dust; both have idols that die.

2021-02-19T16:43:27+00:00

I had believed my arena was under the starry heavens,
And that all the world I had was the earth and the boundless sea.

When Thou dost unveil Thyself, the eyes’ illusions vanish;
What seemed a barrier of the sky, in fact was a sheet of blue.

My comrades lost their way in winding hills and dales;
I had believed my comrades were the sun, the moon, and the stars.

I had reached my goal of love with one instant leap,
Though I had feared the earth and skies impeded my ascent.

My silent secrecies of love were but effusions in disguise;
What I had believed to be restraint, betrayed my passion even more.

2021-02-19T16:43:27+00:00

My power of making music
Has been of no avail;
I am unlucky still;
Thou art still unmoved.

Is this a world of mine,
Or a magic of Thy art?
Is this the world’ of the body,
Or the world of the soul?

My days and nights are tossed.
In a storm of confusion,
In the yearnings of a Rumi,
Or the bewilderment of a Razi.

What doth the eaglet know,
Seduced by wolves and ravens,
About the eagle’s vision,
About its ethereal flights?

A lyrical strain this is not,
And I know not the the strain;
I seek sounds melodious,
Be they Arab or Persian.

Thin partitions divide
A pious man and a king;
One has a seer’s power,
The other has power of the sword.

2021-02-19T16:43:27+00:00

When flowers deck themselves into ruby bloom,
The sufis break their vows of abstinence.

When love has ruled men’s hearts, it has bestowed
Upon mendicants more riches than Perviz’s wealth.

Too old are the stars, too shaky this ancient dome,
I need a world which bursts with the vigour of youth.

I know not the tumult of the day of doom;
My day of doom is the dazzle of Thy glance.

Take not from me the pleasure of sighs at dawn,
And cloud not with neglect Thy eye of grace.

Too blithe a spirit is the nightingale,
Too cheerful are the flowers for a mournful heart

2021-02-19T16:43:27+00:00

Dost Thou remember not my heart’s first rapture —
That piercing glance of Thine, those secrecies of love?

In this world of Thine neither home nor prison,
The body is starved of rest, the soul yearns for peace.

Emptied of the potent wine of Thy love for long,
The wasteland of the East awaits Thy blessing.

My comrades do not know the poignancy of my song;
They think it is a strain inspired by the beauty of spring.

It was my blood, O Lord, that blossomed into Thy world,
And Thou hast rewarded me with an everlasting pain.

2021-02-19T16:43:27+00:00

Consuming fire for thee,
O Lord, Is a gift I will not barter;
I will not change my vassal’s rank
With that of a master of men.

Neither this world nor the next
Is fit for the freedom—loving;
They are forced to die in this,
And forced to live in the other.

Thy tantalizing reticence
Inflames my passion more;
Concealment is an elixir
For those who are lost in love.

The austere eagle lives in peace
On hills and in wilderneeses,
It never doth demean its pride
By building an abode for itself.

Who taught to young Isma’il
The ways of filial obedience?
Was it the blessing of a glance,
Or the miracle of tutelage?

My grave is like a shrine
For men of thought and courage,.
For I have revealed truths sublime
To mere specks of dust.

The beauty of meaning need riot be
Adorned by my craft,
For nature does herself
Incarnadine the rose

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My Lord has effaced the gulf between His world and mine,
With the wondrous potion, "There is no God but. God."

Thy mendicant, inebriate, has in great abandon,
Shattered his sustaining cup at the spring of life

My little draught has value ill this barren age,
For sufies, ill their sanctums, have nothing but empty casks.

Do veil Thyself, O Lord, before a novice like me,
My eyes are more unruly than my anxious heart.

A pearl keeps its lustre in the heart’s purity,
Though tossed and tumbled much by the ravages of the sea.

The enchanting eye of a melodious bard doth cast a magic spell;
It gives the flowers more beauty, it brings more bloom to the earth.

2021-02-19T16:43:27+00:00

O Cup—bearer! Give me again that wine of love for Thee;
Let me gain the place my soul desires.

My lyrical vein was all but dried up, still
The sheik decrees that, too, should be choked to death.

No trail now blazes in new fields of thought,
But blind slaves of sufies and mullahs survive.

Who snatched away the piercing sword of love?
Knowledge is left with an empty sheath alone.

With a luminous soul the power of song is life;
With a darkened soul that power is eternal death.

A full moon glistens in Thy brimful cup;
Deprive me not of its silver beams at night.

2021-02-19T16:43:27+00:00

The world is tospy—turvy; the stars are wildly spinning;
In every atom’s heart is the crash of the day of doom.

Some luminous beauty, mystic grace, has so enthralled them all,
Men of wisdom, men of faith, have lost their wisdom and faith

Thy power to create, O Lord, is veiled in reticence,
It awakens not all their urges even in holy men.

That same eternal ailment, that weakness of resolve,
O Cup—bearer! Its remedy lies in potent wine.