Said The Coal To A Diamond
My stuff is so vile, I am less than dust
while your gleam rends the mirror's heart.
My darkness lights the chafing-dish
before I am incinerated. A miner's boot
tramples my head, covering me with ashes.
Do you know my life's gist?
A condensed sliver of smoke, transformed
into a single spark, in feature and nature
starlike, your every facet a splendor,
light of the king's eye, the dagger's jewel.
Friend, be wise, the diamond replied, assume
a bezel's dignity! Loam strives to harden
to fill my bosom with radiance. Burn
because you are soft. Banish fear and grief.
Be hard as stone, be a diamond.
poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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Mu'tamid's Lament In Prison
In my breast,
A wail of grief,
Without any spark or flash,
Alone survives,
Passionless, ineffectual.
A free man is in prison today,
Without a spear or a sword;
Regret overwhelms me
And also my strategy.
My heart
Is drawn by instinct to chains.
Perhaps my sword was of the same steel.
Once I had a two-edged sword-
It turned into the chains that shackle me now.
How whimsical and indifferent
Is the Author of fates.
[Translated by Mustansir Mir]
Note: Mu‘tamid was the king of Seville and an
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poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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The Crescent
The sun's boat is broken and drowned in the Nile
But a piece is floating about on the water of the Nile
The twilight's pure blood drips into the sky's basin
Has the lancet of Nature drawn the sun's blood?
Has the sky stolen the ear ring of the evening's bride?
Or has the fragile cord in the Nile's waters strolling?
Your caravan is afoot without help of bell's call
The human ear cannot hear your foot-steps' sound
You show the spectacle of rise and fall to the eyes
Where is your home? To which country are you going?
O star-like planet take me with yourself
The prick of Longing's thorn keeps me restless
I am seeking light, I am weary in this habitation
I am the restless child in the existence's school…
poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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The Candle and The Moth
O Candle! Why does the moth love you?
Why is this restless soul devoted to you?
Your charm keeps it restless like mercury
Did you teach it the etiquette of Love?
It circumambulates the site of your manifestation
Is it inspired with the fire of your lightning?
Do the woes of death give it the peace of life?
Does your flame possess the quality of eternal life?
If you do not brighten this sorrowful world
This burning heart's tree of Longing may not green up
Falling before you is the prayer of this little heart
The taste for impassioned Love knows this little heart
It has some zeal of the Primeval Beauty's Lover
You are a small ñër, it is a small Kalam
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Spain
Spain! You are the trustee of the Muslim
blood:
In my eyes you are sanctified like the Harem.
Prints of prostration lie hidden in your dust,
Silent calls to prayers in your morning air.
In your hills and vales were the tents of those,
The tips of whose lances were bright like the
stars.
Is more henna needed by your pretties?
My lifeblood can give them some colour!
How can a Muslim be put down by the straw
and grass,
Even if his flame has lost its heat and fire!
My eyes watched Granada as well,
But the traveller's content neither in journey
nor in rest:
I saw as well as showed, I spoke as well as
listened,
Neither seeing nor learning brings calm to the
heart!
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poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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The Painful Wail
Consumed with grief I am, I get relief in no way
O circumambient waters of the Ganges drown me
Our land foments excessive mutual enmity
What unity! Our closeness harbors separation
Enmity instead of sincerity is outrageous
Enmity among the same barn's grains is outrageous
If the brotherly breeze has not entered in a garden
No pleasure can be derived from songs in that garden
Though I exceedingly love the real closeness
I am upset by the mixing of waves and the shore
The miraculous poet is like the grain from the barn
The grain has no existence if there is no barn
How can beauty unveil itself if no one is anxious for sight
Lighting of the candle is meaningless if there is no assembly
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Taraana-e-Milli
Cheen-o-Arab hamara, Hindustan hamara
Muslim main hum, watan hai sara jahan hamara
Tauheed ki amanat senon main hai hamarey
Asan nahin mitana naam-o-nishaan hamara
Duniya kay bu't kadon main, wo pehla ghar Khuda ka
Hum uss kay pasban hain, wo pasban hamara
Tagho'n Ke saaye main hum Pal kar Jawan Huway Hain
Khanjer Hilal ka hay Komi Nisha,n hamara
Maghrab Ki wadiyo,n main goongi aza'n hamari
Thamta Na tha kisi say sail-e-rawa'n hamara
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The Sun
O Sun! The world's essence and motivator you are
The organizer of the book of the world you are
The splendor of existence has been created by you
The verdure of the garden of existence depends on you
The spectacle of elements is maintained by you
The exigency of life in all is maintained by you
Your appearance confers stability on everything
Your illumination and concord is completion of life
You are the sun which establishes light in the world
Which establishes heart, intellect, essence and wisdom
O Sun! Bestow on us the light of wisdom
Bestow your luster's light on the intellect's eye
You are the decorator of necessaries of existence' assemblage
You are the Yazdan of the denizens of the high and the low
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The Intellect And The Heart
One day Intellect said to the heart
'A guide to the misguided ones I am
Being on the earth I reach up to the sky
Look, how deep in comprehension I am
Guidance on earth is my sole occupation
Like the auspicious Khidr 1 in character I am
Interpreter of the book of life I am
The Manifestation of God's Glory I am
You are only a dropp of blood, but
The invaluable ruby's envy I am'
Hearing this the heart said, 'All this is true
But look at me as well, what I am
You understand the secrets of life
But seeing them with my own eyes I am
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The Bird's Complaint
I am constantly reminded of the bygone times
Those garden's springs, those chorus of chimes
Gone are the freedoms of our own nests
Where we could come and go at our own pleasure
My heart aches the moment I think
Of the buds' smile at the dew's tears
That beautiful figure, that Kamini's form
Which source of happiness in my nest did form
I do not hear those lovely sounds in my cage now
May it happen that my freedom be in my own hands now!
How unfortunate I am, tantalized for my abode I am
My companions are in the home‐land, in the prison I am
Spring has arrived, the flower buds are laughing
On my misfortune in this dark house I am wailing
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poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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