Gabriel's Wing

GABRIEL’S WING
Arise in order that we may make the order of the sun’s journey
fresh
That we may make the burnt out spirit of evening and morning
fresh.
*
The heart of a diamond can be cut by the leaf of a flower;
A soft and gentle word has no effect on a stupid man!
—Bartari‐Hari
[Translated by D.J. Matthews]
1 *
My epiphany of passion causes commotion in All potent wine is emptied of Thy cask;
the precinct of the Divine Essence, Art Thou, indeed, a Cup‐bearer, may I ask?
Strikes terror in the pantheon of His Thou gavest me a drop from an ocean;
Attributes. Art Thou a miser in a Nourisherʹs mask?
The houri and the angel are captives of my [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]
imaginations—
My glance ruffles Your Manifestations. 2
My quest is the architect of the Mosque and If the stars have strayed—
the idol‐house, To whom do the heavens belong, You or Me?
Though my song causes tumult both in the Why must I worry about the world—
Ka‘bah and Somnath. To whom does this world belong, You or Me?
My sharp vision pierced through the core of If the Placeless Realm
existence; Offers no lively scenes of passion and
Confounded by my illusions at yet another time. longing,
Whose fault is that, my Lord?—
Oh what a rash deed that You did not leave
Does that realm belong to You or to me?
me hidden:
I was the only secret in the conscience of the On the morning of eternity he dared to say
universe! ʹNoʹ,
But how would I know why—
[Translated by the Editors]
Is he Your confidant, or is he mine?
250 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal
Muhammad is Yours, *
Gabriel is Yours,
Make our hearts the seats of mercy and love,
The Qurʹan is Yours—
And make them in Thy thought for ever
But this discourse,
move;
This exposition in melodious tunes,
Give the invincible power of Ali the brave,
Is it Yours or is it mine?
To one whom gavest Thou poor means to live.
Your world is illuminated
[Translated by Naim Siddiqui]
By the radiance of the same star
Whose loss was the fall of Adam, that 4
creature of earth,
Whether or not it moves you,
Was it Yours or mine?
At least listen to my complaint—
[Translated by Mustansir Mir] It is not redress this free spirit seeks.
3 This handful of dust,
This fiercely blowing wind,
Bright are Your tresses: brighten them even
And these vast, limitless heavens—
more:
Is the delight You take in creation
Ravish the senses and the mind, ravish the
A blessing or some wanton joke?
heart and the eyes.
The tent of the rose could not withstand
Love concealed, and beauty too!
The wind blowing through the garden:
Reveal Yourself to me, or reveal me to myself.
Is this the spring season,
You are the limitless ocean and I am but a tiny And this the auspicious wind?
rivulet—
I am at fault, and in a foreign land,
Either make Your peer or turn me limitless at
But the angels never could make habitable
least.
That wasteland of yours.
If I am a mother‐of‐pearl, the lustre of my
That stark wilderness,
pearl is in Your hands,
That insubstantial world of Yours
But if I am a piece of brick, give me a
Gratefully remembers my love of hardship.
diamond’s sheen.
An adventurous spirit is ill at ease
If I am not destined to sing at the advent of
In a garden where no hunter lies in ambush.
Spring,
Make this half‐enraptured breath a skylark of The station of love is beyond the reach of
the Spring. Your angels,
Only those of dauntless courage are up to it.
Why did You order me to quit the Garden of
Eden?— *
Now there is much to be done here—so just Give to the youth my sighs of dawn;
wait for me! Give wings to these eaglets again,
When the roll of my deeds is brought up on This, dear Lord, is my only wish—
the Day of Reckoning, That my insights should be shared by all!
Be ashamed as You will shame me. [Translated by Mustansir Mir]
1

1 Based on partial translations by Annemarie Poet of Tomorrow edited by Khawaja Abdur Rahim;
Schimmel and Sayyad Fayyaz Mahmood in Iqbal: and Naim Siddiqui in Baal‐i‐Jibreel.
Gabriel’s Wing 251
5 To moon may wax with fuller light.
What avails love when life is so ephemeral? [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
What avails a mortal’s love for the immortal? *
Love that is snuffed out by death’s passing Thy world the fish’s and the winged thing’s
blast bower;
Love without the pain, the passion that My world a crying of the sunrise hour;
consumes? In Thy world I am helpless and a slave;
A flickering spark I am, aglow for a fleeting In my world is Thy kingdom and Thy power.
glance
7
Flow vain for a flickering spark to chase an
Contrary runs our planet, the stars whirl fast,
eternal flame!
oh Saki!
Grant me the bliss of eternal life, O Lord, In every atom’s heartbeat a Doomsday blast,
And mine will be the ecstasy of eternal love. oh Saki!
Give me the pleasure of an everlasting pain Torn from God’s congregation its dower of
An agony that lacerates my soul for ever. faith and reason,
And godlessness in fatal allurement dressed,
oh Saki!
6 For our inveterate sickness, our wavering
My scattered dust charged with Love heart, the cure—
The shape of heart may take at last: That same joy‐dropping nectar as in the past,
O God, the grief that bowed me then oh Saki.
May press me down as in the past! Within Islam’s cold temple no fire of longing
The Maids of Eden by their charm stirs,
May arouse my urge for song: For still your face is hidden, veiled and un‐
The flame of Love that burns in me, guessed, oh Saki.
May fire the zeal of Celestial Throng! Unchanged is Persia’s garden: soil, stream,
The pilgrim’s mind can dwell at times Tabriz, unchanged;
On spots and stages left behind: And yet with no new Rumi is her land graced,
My heed for spots and places crossed, oh Saki.
From the Quest may turn my mind! But of his barren acres Iqbal will not despair:
A little rain, and harvests shall wave at last,
By the mighty force of Love
oh Saki!
I am turned to Boundless Deep:
On me, a beggar, secrets of empire are
I fear that my self‐regard,
bestowed;
Me, for aye, on shore may keep!
My songs are worth the treasures Parvez
My hectic search for aim and end, amassed, oh Saki.
In life that smell and hue doth lack,
[Translated by V.G. Kiernan]
May get renown like lover’s tale,
Who riding went on litter’s track! *
Due to Thy benevolence, I am not without
The rise of clay‐born man hath smit
merit,
The hosts of heaven with utter fright:
However, I am not a slave to a Tughral or a
They dread that this fallen star
Sanjar;
It is my nature to see the world as it is;
But, in no case, am I the Cup of any Jamshid! My flagon small is blessing great,
For the age athirst and dry:
[Translated by A. Anwar Beg]
In the cells where mystics swell
8 Big empty gourds are lying by.
Set out once more that cup, that wine, oh In love a novice I am yet,
Saki— Much good for you to keep apart,
Let my true place at last be mine, oh Saki! For my glance is restive more
Than my wild and untam’d heart.
Three centuries India’s wine‐shops have been
closed, The dark unfathomed caves of sea,
And now for your largesse we pine, oh Saki; Hold gems of purest ray serene:
The gems retain in midst of brine
My flask of poetry held the last few drops—
Their essence bright and clean.
Unlawful, says our crabb’d devine, oh Saki.
Through the poet’s quickening gaze
Truth’s forest hides no lion‐hearts now: men
The rose and tulip lovelier seem:
grovel
No doubt, the minstrel’s piercing glance
Before the priest, or the saint’s shrine, oh Saki.
Is nothing less than magic gleam.
Who has borne off Love’s valiant sword?
[Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
About
An empty scabbard Wisdom’s hands twine, *
oh Saki. At times, Love is a wanderer who has no
Verse lights up life, while heart burns bright, home,
but fades And at times it is Noshervan, the King of
For ever when those rays decline, oh Saki; Kings:
At times it comes to the battlefield in full
Bereave not of its moon my night; I see
armor,
A full moon in your goblet shine, oh Saki!
And at times naked and weaponless.
*
10
He is the essence of the Space as well as the
Placeless Realm— Slow fire of longing—wealth beyond
And Space is nothing but a figure of speech: compare;
How could Khizer tell, and what, I will not change my prayer‐mat for Heaven’s
If the fish were to ask, “Where is the water?” chair!
[Translated by the Editors] Ill fits this world of Your freemen, ill the next:
Death’s hard yoke frets them here, life’s hard
9 yoke there.
My Saki made me drink the wine Close veils inflame the loiterer in Love’s lane;
Of There is no god but He: Your long reluctance fans my passion’s flare.
From the illusive world of sense,
The hawk lives out his days in rocks and
This cup divine has set me free.
desert,
Now I find no charm or grace Tame nest‐twig‐carrying his proud claws
In song and ale, or harp and lute: forswear.
To me appeal the tulips wild,
The riverside and mountains mute.
Was it book‐lesson, or father’s glance, that *
taught
Grant me the absorption of the souls of the
The son of Abraham what son should bear?
past,
Bold hearts, firm souls, come pilgrim to my And let me be of those who never grieve;
tomb; The riddles of reason I have solved, but now,
I taught poor dust to tower hill‐high in air. O Lord! Give me a life of ecstasy.
Truth has no need of me for tiring‐maid; [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]
To stain the tulip red is Nature’s care.
12
[Translated by V.G. Kiernan] By dint of Spring the poppy‐cup,
* With vintage red is over‐flown:
With her advent the hermit too
Love, sometimes, is the solitude of Nature; Temperance to the wind hath thrown.
It is, sometime, merrymaking and company‐
seeking: When great and mighty force of Love
Sometime the legacy of the mosque and the At some place its flag doth raise,
pulpit, Beggars dressed in rags and sack
Sometime Lord Ali the Vanquisher of the Become heirs true to King Parvez.
Khyber! Antique the stars and old the dome
[Translated by the Editors] In which they roam about and move:
I long for new and virgin soil
11 Where my mettle I may prove.
Have You forgotten then my heart of old, The stir and roar of Judgement Day
That college of Love, that whip that bright Hath no dread for me at all:
eyes hold? Thine roving glance doth work on me
The school‐bred demi‐goddesses of this age Like the Last Day’s Trumpet Call.
Lack the carved grace of the old pagan mold! Snatch not from me the blessing great
This is a strange world, neither cage nor nest, Of sighs heaved at early morn:
With no calm nook in all its spacious fold. With a casual loving look
Weaken not thine fierce scorn.
The vine awaits Your bounteous rain: no
more My sad and broken heart disdains
Is the Magian wine in Persia’s taverns sold. The Spring and dower that she brings:
Too joyous the song of nightingale!
My comrades thought my song were of I feel more gloomy when it sings.
Spring’s kindling—
How should they know what in Love’s notes Unwise are those who tell and preach
is told? Accord with times and the age.
If the world befits you not,
Out of my flesh and blood You made this A war against it you must wage.
earth;
Its quenchless fever the martyr’s crown of [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
gold. *
My days supported by Your alms, I do not The subtle point that life would not end with
Complain against my friends, or the times the death of the body
scold. I learnt from Abul Hasan 1:

[Translated by Victor Kiernan] 1 Abul Hasan Ash‘ari.
The un, if it would hate its beam 14
Will lose all its brilliance.
Methought my racing field lay under the
[Translated by Muhammad Munawwar Mirza] skies,
This plaything of water and clay, I regarded
13
as my world;
Mine ill luck the same and same,
Thy unveiling broke the spell of searching
O Lord, the coldness on Your part:
glances,
No useful aim has been served,
I mistook this blue vault for Heaven.
By skill in poetic art.
The Sun, the Moon, the Stars, methought,
Where am I and where are You, would keep me company,
Is the world a fact or naught? Fatigued, they dropped out in the twists and
Does this world to me belong, turns of space:
Or is a wonder by You wrought? One leap by Love ended all the pother,
The precious moments of my life, I fondly imagined, the earth and sky were
One by one have been snatched: boundless.
But still the conflict racks my brain, What I esteemed as the clarion call of the
If heart and head are ever matched. caravan,
Was but the plaintive cry of a traveller, weary
A hawk forgetful of its breed, and forlorn.
Upbrought and fed in midst of kites,
Knows not the wont and ways of hawks, [Translated by S.A. Rahman 1]
And cannot soar to mighty heights. *
For song no tongue is set apart, To be God is to have charge of land and sea;
No claim to tongues is laid by me: Being God is nothing but a headache!
What matters is a dainty song, But being a servant of God? God forbid!
No matter what its language be. That is no headache—it is a heartache!
Faqr and Kingship are akin, [Translated by Mustansir Mir]
Though at odds may these appear:
One wins the heart with single glance, 15
The other rules with sword and spear. Reason is either luminous, or it seeks proofs;
Some have left the caravan train, Proof‐seeking reason is but an excess of
And some on Ka‘bah turn their back; wonder.
For leaders of the Faithful Band, Thine alone is what I possess in this handful
Winsome mode and manners lack. of dust;
[Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] And to keep it safe is beyond my power, O
Lord!
*
My songs of lament were all inspired by Thee;
This reason of mine knows not good from If they have reached the stars, it is no fault of
evil; mine.
And tries to exceed the bounds that nature
fixed;
I know not what has happened to me of late,
My reason and my heart are ever at war.
1
Quoted in ‘Chughtai and Iqbal’ by Arif Rahman
Chughtai in Iqbal: Commemorative Volume edited by
Ali Sardar Jafri and K.S. Duggal
Art Thou pleased, O Lord, with man’s Your paradise no‐one has seen: in Europe
imperfection? No village but with paradise can view.
Why repeat a flawed attempt, and make his
Long, long have my thoughts wandered
shame eternal?
about heaven;
The Western ways have tried to make me a Now in the moon’s blind caverns let them sty!
renegade;
I, dowered by Nature with empyreal essence,
But why are our mullahs a disgrace to
Am dust—but not through dust does my way
Muslims?
lie;
Fools think man is a bondman of destiny;
Nor East, nor west my home, nor Samarkand,
But man has still the power to break the
Nor Ispahan nor Delhi; in ecstasy,
bonds of fate.
God‐filled, I roam, speaking what truth I
Thou hast Thy pantheon, and I have mine, O
see—
Lord!
No fool for priests, nor yet of this age’s fry.
Both have idols of dust; both have idols that
die. My folk berate me, the stranger does not love
me:
Hemlock for sherbet I could never cry;
*
How could a weigher of truth see Mount
This Adam—is he the sovereign of land and Damawand
sea? And think a common refuse‐heap as high?
What can I say about such an incompetent
In Nimrod’s fire faith’s silent witness, not
being!
Like mustard‐seed in the grate, burned
He is not able to see anything—himself, God,
splutteringly—
or the world!
Is this the masterpiece of Your art? Blood warm, gaze keen, right‐following,
wrong‐forswearing,
[Translated by Mustansir Mir]
In fetters free, prosperous in penury,
16 In fair of foul untamed and light of heart—
Lovely, oh Lord, this fleeting world; but why Who can steal laughter from a flower’s bright
Must the frank heart, the quick brain, droop eye?
and sigh? —Will no one hush this too proud thing Iqbal
Whose tongue God’s presence‐chamber could
Though usury mingle somewhat with his not tie!
godship,
The white man is the world’s arch‐deity; [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]
His asses graze in fields of rose and poppy: 1 1
One wisp of hay to genius You deny;
In November, 1933, His Majesty the Leader
His Church abounds with roasts and ruby of the Faithful the now‐martyred Nadir
wines: Shah Ghazi granted the author permission
Sermons and saws are all Your mosques to visit the shrine of The sage Sana‘i of
supply.
1 The numbering of poems in Gabriel’s Wing starts
Your laws are just, but their expositors
again after 16. The only plausible explanation is
Bedevil the Koran, twist it awry; that it marks a new section—while God was
addressed in the previous section, the addressee
here will be the humanity.
Ghazna. These verses were written in Subdued by the dexterous fiddler’s chords

commemoration of the event, in imitation of there murmurs
a famous panegyric by the poet—‘We are In the lowest string the wail of Europe’s
coming after Sina‘i and Attar.’ woe—
All Nature’s vastness cannot contain you, oh Her waters that have bred the shark now
My madness: vain, those wanderings to and breed
fro The storm‐wave that will smash its den
below!
In deserts! By selfhood only are the spells
Of sense broken,— that power we did not Slavery—exile from the love of beauty:
know. Beauty—whatever free men reckon so;
Rub your eyes, sluggard! Light is Nature’s Trust no slave’s eyes, clear sight and liberty
law, Go hand in hand. His own resolves bestow
And not unknown to Ocean its waves flow.
The empire of To‐day on him who fishes
Where reason and revelation war, faith errs To‐morrow’s pearl up from Time’s undertow.
To think the Mystic on his cross its foe,
The Frankish glassblowers’ arts can make
For God’s pure souls, in thralldom or on stone run:
thrones, My alchemy makes glass flint‐hard. Pharaoh
Have one safe shield, his scorn of this world’s
Plotted and plots against me; but what harm?
show.
Heaven lifts my hand, like Moses’, white as
But do not, Gabriel, envy my rapture: better snow;
For Heaven’s dounce folk the prayer and the
Earth’s rubbish‐heaps can never quell this
beads’ neat row!
spark
* God struck to light whole deserts, His
flambeau!
I have seen many a wine‐shop East and West;
But here no Saki, there in the grape no glow. Love, self‐beholding, self‐sustaining, stands
Un‐awed at the gates of Caesar or Khosro;
In Iran no more, in Tartary no more,
Those world‐renouncers who could If moon or Pleiades fall my prey, what
overthrow wonder—
Myself bound fast to the Prophet’s saddle‐bow!
Great kings; the Prophet’s heir filches and
sells He—Guide, Last Envoy, Lord of All—lent
The blankets of the Prophet’s kin. When to brightness
Of Sinai to our dust; Love’s eyes, not slow
The Lord I was denounced for crying
Doomsday To kindle, hail him Alpha and Omega,
Too soon, by that Archangel who must blow Chapter, and Word, and Book. I would not go
Its trumpet, God made answer—Is Doomsday Pearl‐diving there, for reverence of Sina‘i;
far But in these tides a million pearls still grow.
When Makkah sleeps while China worships?—
Though
The bowl of faith finds none to pour, the
2
beaker Who is this composer of ghazals, who is
Of modern thought brims with the wine of burningly passionate and cheerful?
No.
He makes the thoughts of the wise full of God mighty will that I
madness. Beside myself should be.
Although poverty also has royal I neither like nor claim
characteristics, Plato’s thought or Croesus’ gold:
Kingship is only half complete without a Clean conscience, lofty gaze
kingdom. And zeal is all I hold.
Now in the cell of the Sufi, the same poverty By Holy Prophet’s Ascent
has not remained— This truth to me was taught,
The poverty whose charter is written in the Within the reach of man
blood of the hearts of lions. High heavens can be brought.
Ah circle of dervishes, see how the man of The Life perhaps is still
God is, Raw and incomplete:
In whose collar is the tumult of Judgement’s Be and it becomes
Day— E’er doth a voice repeat.
—who is as bright as a flame by the heat of The West hath cast a spell
repetition of God’s name; On thine heart and mind:
Who is quicker than the lightning by the In Rumi’s burning flame
swiftness of his thought. A cure for thyself find.
Kingship gives rise to signs of madness— Through his bounty great
They are the scalpels of Allah, be they Taimur My vision shines and glows,
of Genghis. And mighty Oxus too
In my pitcher flows.
Thus Iraq and Persia give me praise for my verse:
This Indian infidels sheds blood without [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
swords or spears. 1
4
Fabric of earth and wind and wave!
3 Who is the secret, you or I,
The breath of Gabriel
Brought into light? Or who the dark
If God on me bestow,
world of what hides yet, you or I?
I may in words express
What Love has made me know. Here in this night of grief and pain,
trouble and toil, that men call life,
How can the stars foretell
What future holds in store? Who is the dawn, or who dawn’s prayer
They roam perplex’d and mean cried from the minaret, you or I?
In skies that have no shore. Who is the load that Time and Space
To fix one’s mind and gaze bear on their shoulder? Who the prize
On goal is life, in fact: Run for with fiery feet by swift
To ego’s death to lead daybreak and sunset, you or I?
The thoughts that mind distract.
You are a pinch of dust and blind,
How strange! The bliss of self I am a pinch of dust that feels;
Having bestowed on me,
Through the dry land, Existence, who

1 We have slightly altered Matthews’ translated flows like a streamlet, you or I?
line to bring it closer to the original.
[Translated by V.G. Kiernan] The soul that knows no stain
Is something quite discreet:
5 The glow and tint of blood
(Written in London) Is wrought by bread and meat.
Thou art yet region‐bound, [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
Transcend the limits of space;
7
Transcend the narrow climes
Of the East and the West. Hill and vale once more under the poppy’s
lamps are bright,
For selfless deeds of men
In my heart the nightingale has set new songs
Rewards are less mundane;
alight;
Transcend the houris’ glances,
The pure, celestial wine. Violet, violet, azure, azure, golden, golden,
mantles—
Ravishing in its power
Flowers, or fairies of the desert, rank on rank
Is beauty in the West;
in sight?
Thou bird of paradise,
Resist this earthly trap. On the rosy‐spray dawn’s soft breeze has left
a pearl of dew,
With a mountain‐cleaving assault,
Now the sunbeam turns this gem a yet more
Bridging the East and West,
glittering white.
Despise all defences,
And become a sheathless sword. Town or woodland, which is sweeter, if for
her unveiling
Thy imam is unabsorbed,
Careless beauty love towns less than where
Thy prayer is uninspired,
green woods invite?
Forsake an imam like him,
Forsake a prayer like this. Delve into your soul and there seek our life’s
buried tracks;
Will you not be mine? then be not mine, be
6 your own right!
The free by dint of faqr World of soul—the world of fire and ecstasy
Life’s secrets can disclose: and longing:
With Gabriel faqr is bound World of sense—the world of gain that fraud
By ties of kinship close. and cunning blight;
The scholar, mystic and Treasure of the soul once won is never lost
The bard, by thinking wrong, again:
Many a bark have sunk, Treasure gold, a shadow—wealth soon comes
That was sound and strong. and soon takes flight.
You need a burning glance In the spirit’s world I have not seen a white
That cows down lions bold: man’s Raj,
Only the sheep and goats In that world I have not seen Hindu and
Heave sighs deep and cold. Muslim fight.
Love’s physician scanned my face Shame and shame that hermit’s saying pouted
And thus he did bespeak, on me—you forfeit
“You have no ailment, but Body and soul alike if once you cringe to
Your zeal is faint and weak.” another’s might!
[Translated by V.G. Kiernan] Free heart lends kingly state,
To belly death is due:
8 Decide which of the two
(Written in Kabul) Is better in your view.
Muslims are born with a gift to charm, to O Muslim, search your heart,
persuade; Of mullah don’t ask it,
Brave men—they are endowed with a noble “The sacred House of God,
courtesy. The righteous why have quit?”
Slaves of custom are all the schools of old; 10
They teach the eaglet to grovel in the dust. Of passion’s glow your heart is blank,
These victims of the past have seen the dawn Your glances are not chaste and frank:
of hope, To wonder at then there is naught
When I revealed to them the eagle’s ways. That bold and dauntless you are not.
The man of God knows but two words of A longing strong for God’s display,
faith; Is also hid in self‐same clay:
The scholar has tomes of knowledge old and O heedless man, let this be known,
new. Brains alone you do not own.
About wine and women I know not how to The eye whose light and luster rest
write; On collyrium brought from West:
Ask not a stone‐breaker to work on glass. Is full of art, conceit and show,
It gets not wet at others’ woe.
O Iqbal! From where did you learn to be such
a dervish: 1 How can the priest and monk assess
Even among the kings there is talk about your The height of craze that I possess?
contentment! still sound the hems of robes they wear,
Which have no rifts and know no tear.
How long the stars shall hold their sway
9 On fate of man, sprung from clay?
Either bereft of life I drop,
Through Love the song of Life
Or the Wheel of Fate must stop.
Begets its rhythmic flow:
From Love the shapes of clay Lightning I am and keep my eye
Derive an endless glow. On waste and hill that reach the sky:
Heaps of straw and mounds of dust,
Love makes its way to all
Too low they are, avoid I must.
The pores in human flesh,
Like dewy wind of morn That godly man gets world’s bequest,
That makes the rose twig fresh. Who risks his life in ceaseless quest:
That man no Faith can claim at all
If man denies his God,
Who lives not up to Prophet’s call.
On kings he has to fawn:
By trust in God, the kings [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
To his door are drawn.
11
A host of peril though you face,
1 The last two lines, “O Iqbal!… your contentment!” Yet your tongue with heart ally:
have been provided by the editors, since the From times antique and hoar
translator had left them out.
Qalandars on this mode rely. [Translated by the Editors]
Men congregate in numbers large 13
In the mart where wine is sold,
For polite and courteous seems (Written in Cordoba)
The Head of Mart, the Magian Old. These Western nymphs
Though the points by Razi touched A challenge to the eye and the heart,
May be subtle and profound, Are bold of glance,
Yet against infirm belief In a paradise of instant bliss.
No cure in them is ever found. Thy heart is a wavering ship,
The disciple blind shed copious tears, Tossed by beauty’s assault
Of sinful life he felt contrite. These moons and stars that glisten,
May God aid the shaykh as well Are whirlpools in thy sea.
To feel ashamed and do the right! The warblings of the harp and lyre,
Man is bound still hand and foot Have wondrous powers—
In chains by this talisman old, Powers that cannot be captured
For idols of the age of past In the world of sound.
Still men within their armpits hold. By teaching him the monastic wont and way,
Enough for me that I affirm The Sufi has led astray the jurist of the town. 1
With tongue alone my faith and creed: The prostration that once
A thousand thanks for mullah’s claim Shook the earth’s soul,
That he with heart avows, indeed. Now leaves not a trace
As good as Muslim’s true belief, On the mosque’s decadent walls.
If blessed with Love, unfaith is eke: I have not heard in the Arab world
Bereft of Love a Muslim true The thunderous call
Is no better than Zindiq. The call to prayer that pierced
[Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] The hearts of hills in the past.
O Cordoba! Perhaps
12
Some magic in thy air
Rely on the witness of the phenomenal world Has breathed into my song
To know whether you are on the mark or The buoyancy of youth.
have gone astray:
Neither kingship nor poverty for a Muslim
who lacks in faith,
14
The one who has it is a king even if he be A heart awake to man imparts
poor. Umar’s brains and Hyder’s manly parts:
He depends on the sword if he lacks in faith: If watchful heart a man may hold,
If he has faith he may need no weapons in the His dross is changed to sterling gold.
fight. Beget a heart alive and sound,
A Muslim without faith yields to what his For, if it be in slumber bound,
fate ordains; You cannot strike a deadly blow,
With faith, he is destiny incarnate.
1 The two lines, “By teaching him…the jurist of the
I revealed the secrets and rent the veil, town,” have been provided by the editors since the
But your blindness has no cure. translator had left them out.
Nor even I can daring show. 15
If sense of smell be full and stunted, in the coquetry and fierceness of the self there
The musk‐deer never can be hunted: is no pride, there are no airs. Even if there
If bereft of sense of smelling true, are airs, then they are not without the
Surmise and guess can yield no clue. pleasure of submission.
My sighs no more I can withhold, The eye of love is in search of the living heart;
When Muslims’ sloth I do behold: hunting for carrion does not befit up to the
If Muslims do not mend their way, royal hawk.
Magians their luck might steal away.
In my song there is no charming and romantic
These simple thralls of Yours, O Lord, grace, for the blast of the trumpet of Israfil is
From every house and door are barred: not meant to please the heart.
For kings, no less the acolytes,
Are fraudulent and hypocrites. I will not ask for wine from the Frank, saki,
for this is not the way of the pure‐hearted
The freedom that this age does grant profligates.
Does ever freedom’s essence want:
Though freedom seems to outward sight, The rule of love has never been widespread in
Yet is no less than prison tight. the world. The reason is this—that love is no
time‐server.
O Lord of Yathrib! Cure provide
For doubts that in my breast abide: One continual anxiety—whether absent or
My wisdom to the West is due, present! If I tell it myself, my story is not
Girdled my faith like Brahman true. long.
[Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] If you desire then read the Persian Psalms 1 in

seclusion; the midnight lament is not bereft
of secrets.
16
A recreant captain, a battle‐line thrown back,
The arrow hanging target‐less and slack!
Nowhere near you that shell which holds
life’s pearl;
I have dragged the waves and searched the
ocean’s track.
Plunge in your self, on idols dote no more,
Pour our no more heart’s blood for paint to
deck
Their shrines. I unveil the courts of Love and
Death:
Death—life dishonoured; Love—death for
honour’s sake.

1 We have changed the translator’s ‘Psalms of
Persia’ to the more widely known title of the book.
I gleaned in Rumi’s company: one bold heart How can you catch this truth again,
Is worth of learned heads the whole tame pack; With bias if your mind be fraught?
Once more that voice from Sinai’s tree would cry One is the outward form of faith,
Fear not! if some new Moses led the attack. The other its spirit deep and true:
He, who quaffs its spirits deep,
No glitter of Western science could dazzle my
Brings secrets hidden to his view.
eyes
The dust of Medina stains, like collyrium, O pilgrim wise, who tread the [ath,
black. If passion strong for faith you lack,
The bough of faith shall whither fast,
Obscure and dim become the path.
17 Courage and valour are the signs
(Written in Europe) By which the state of Love is known:
Not every zeal is pert and rude,
At London, winter wind, like sword, was
Nor daring by ev’ry person shown.
biting though,
My wont to rise at early morn I didn’t forego. On the Day of Judgement too
My frenzy will not let me rest:
At times my heated talk to gathering pleasure
With Mighty God I shall contend
lent;
Or rend to fragments my own vest.
My holding ’loof at times perplexed them all,
I trow. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
No hope for change is there, if workers rule 19
the land,
The way to renounce is
For those who hew the rocks, like Parvez
To conquer the earth and heaven;
tricks do know.
The way to renounce is not
Statecraft divorced from Faith to reign of To starve oneself to death.
terror leads,
O cultists! I like not
Though it be a monarch’s rule or Commoners’
Your austere piety;
Show.
Your piety is penury,
The streets of Rome remind of Delhi’s Suffering and grief.
glorious past,
A nation that has lost
The lesson same and charm are writ upon its
Taimur’s great heritage,
brow.
Is unfit for piety,
18 And is unfit to rule.
The ancient fane in which we live If the sweet cup‐bearer
Has heaps of thorns at every turn; Listens not to me, it is good;
Too hard to cross it safe and sound When I say, “no more,”
Without the aid of sighs that burn. That will only bring me more.
The tale of quarry shot by Love The Sufi and his peers
Is simple, brief and not too long: Are all engrossed in a glimpse;
The victim feels the joy of prick They know not that concealment
And then the rest of saddle thong. Is itself a vision.
The sterling truth to Muslim taught, Bondage is freedom
In feuds of different sects is lost; With favours from on high,
And when favours are withheld, Your rank and state cannot be told
Even freedom is bondage. By one who reads the stars:
You are living dust, in sooth,
The West is a treasure‐house
Not ruled by Moon or Mars.
For the reason’s quest;
But for the heart it is The maids of Ed’n and Gabriel eke
A source of decay and death. In this world can be found,
But, alas! You lack as yet
Glances bold and zeal profound.
20 My craze has judged aright the bent
Though reason to the portal guide, Of times wherein I am born:
Yet entry to it is denied. Love be thanked for granting me
Beg God to grant a lighted heart, The gown entire and untorn.
For light and sight are things apart. Spite of Nature’s bounty great,
Though knowledge lends to mind a glow, Its guarding practice, mark!
No houris its Eden can ever show. It grants the ruby reddish hue,
But denies the heat of spark.
How strange that in the present time
No one owns the joy sublime! [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
Some passions leave the mind intact, 22
While others make it blind to fact.
The morning breeze has whispered to me a
The heart from unrest gets its life, secret,
What pity if it knows no strife! That those who know their selfhood, are
You die because from God you flee, equal to kings.
If living, linked with God shall be. Selfhood is the essence of thy life and honour,
The pearls have all their covering cleft, Thou shalt rule with it, but without it be in
Of urge to show you are bereft. disgrace.
Show unto me, though I too cry, Thou hast not led my way, O man of wisdom!
It is not tale of Moses and Sinai. But why, complain? Thou knowest not the
way.
21
Fakirs who know the wont and way of kings
The self of man is ocean vast, Are as yet being trained in my literary circle. 1
And knows no depth or bound:
Thy monastic cult is a strait and narrow path,
If you take it for a stream,
Which I like not, but thy freedom I respect.
How can your mind be sound?
This world of inferior prey is meant to
The magic of this whirling dome
sharpen thy claws,
We can set at naught:
Thou art an eagle‐hunter, but art a novice yet.
Not of stone but of glass
Its building has been wrought. Whether thou art in the East or West, thy faith
Is meaningless, unless thy heart affirms it.
In Holy Trance in self we drown,
And up we rise again;
But how a worthless man can show
So much might and main? 1 Two lines, “Fakirs who know…my literary
circle,” have been provided by the editors since the
23 Though blood in veins may race,
To Life it lends no grace:
Thy vision and thy hands are chained, earth‐ Only the glow of heart
bound, To Life can zeal impart.
Is it thy nature’s fault, or of the thought too
high? Wherefore, O Tulip Bride,
From me your charms you hide?
The schoolmen have strangled thy nascent I am the breath of morn,
soul, Your face I would adorn.
And stifled the voice of passionate faith in
thee. What Frankish dealers take
For counterfeit and fake,
Absorb thyself in selfhood, seek the path of Is true and real art—
God, Not valued in their Mart.
This is the only way for thee to find freedom.
Though indigent I be,
Ask an unclad dervish what the heart doth I am of hand yet free:
say, What can the Flame bestow
May God show thee thy place in the world of Except its spark and glow?
men.
25
If bare‐headed, have a towering will,
The splendour of a monarch great
The crown is not for thee, but for the eagle
Is worthless for the free and bold:
alone.
Where lies the grandeur of a king,
When thou losest selfhood, thou losest power, Whose riches rest on borrowed gold?
too;
You pin your faith on idols vain
Blame not the stars and fate for thy fall.
And turn your back on Mighty God:
Monasteries and schools left me sad and If this is not unbelief and sin,
dejected, What else is unbelief and fraud?
No life and no love; no vision and no
Luck favours the fool and the mean,
knowledge.
And exalts and lifts to the skies
[Translated by Naim Siddiqui] Only those who are base and low
And know not how to patronize.
24
One look from the eyes of the Fair
The mind can give you naught,
Can make a conquest of the heart:
But what with doubt is fraught:
There is no charm in the fair sweet,
One look of Saintly Guide
If it lacks this alluring art.
Can needful cure provide.
I am a target for the hate
The goal that you presume
Of the mighty rich and the great,
Is far and out of view:
As I know the end of Caesars great
What else can be this life
And know the freaks of luck or fate.
But zeal for endless strife?
To be a person great and strong
Much worth the pearl begets,
Is the end and aim of all;
For guard on self it sets:
But that rank is not real and true
What else in pearl is found
That is attained by the ego’s fall.
Except its sheen profound?
My bold and simple mode of life
Has captured each and every heart;
Though my numbers are lame and dull The gist of all Gnostic knowledge is merely
And lay no claim to poet’s art. this:
That life is an arrow spent and yet from the
bow it is not too far!
26 Your station lies a little ahead of all the stars
You are neither for the earth nor for the and Pleiades:
heaven: Move on, for it is not a long way from the
The world is for you, and not you for the skies.
world. Lest he asks the guide to let him be!
The sparks Reason and Heart are shed of the —It would be no surprise from a traveller
flame of Love: who thinks too much.
That one to burn the straw, this one for [Translated by the Editors]
burning the field of reeds.
28
This garden is for painful strains:
Neither for enjoying the roses nor for making (Written in Europe)
a nest.
My mind on me bestowed a thinker’s gaze,
How long, while your ship remains in Ravi, From Love I learnt a toper’s wont and ways.
Nile and Euphrates?
No wine, no flask, no goblet goes around,
—When it is meant for the Ocean, which
Sweet looks to banquet lend its hue and
knows no bounds.
sound.
Once who were beacons to the brightest stars,
Take not my rhymes for poet’s art,
Have long been awaiting a guide to show
I know the secrets of wine‐seller’s mart.
them the way now.
Behold the bud athirst for breath of Morn,
High ambition, winsome speech, a passionate
It tells the story of my heart forlorn.
soul—
This is all the luggage for a leader of the Know not, absence or presence if it be,
Caravan. I am the alien here, all others free.
It was a plain and simple truth but the My stay in West I may prolong a bit,
imagination of the Persian mind My frenzy if this desert will admit.
Has confounded it with the poetic license. The stage of mind by Iqbal soon was crost,
I am saving a song for the Placeless Realm— But in the Vale of Love this sage was lost.
A song that could shake even the trusty [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
Gabriel.
29
27 From the heavens comes an answer to our
O Prisoner of Space! You are not far from the long cries at last:
Placeless Realm— The heavens break their silence, the curtains
That Audience Hall is not far away from your rise at last!
planet. Little of change love’s fortunes inherit: born in
Grieve not, for a meadow that faces no threat anguish
from the Autumn, And fire, in fire and anguish its end it buys at
Is not far away from your nest. last.
The destiny of nations I chart for you: at first I know our priesthood,
The sword and spear; the zither’s, the lute’s how faint in action,
soft sighs at last. In sermons pouring
a languid lotion.
Outlandish are the customs that Europe’s
tavern knows! 31
It steeps men first in pleasure, the wine
supplies at last. Every atom pants for glory: greed
Of self‐fruition earth’s whole creed!
Be it the awe of Nadir, be it the glory of a Life that thirsts for no flowering—death:
Tamerlane: Self‐creation—a godlike deed;
At last all exploits are drowned in a barrel of Through self the mustard‐seed becomes
wine. 1 A hill: without, the hill a seed.
The cloistered hour is over, the arena’s hour The stars wander and do not meet,
begins; To all things severance is decreed;
The lightning comes to asunder those cloudy Pale is the moon of night’s last hour
skies at last! No whispered things of friendship speed.
Own self is all the light you need;
It was too hard to withhold the flood of these You are this world’s sole truth, all else
truths, Illusion such as sorceries breed.
At last the Qalandar revealed the secrets of —These desert thorns prick many a doubt:
the Book. 2 Do not complain if bare feet bleed.
Comment [MSU1]: Pakistan Quarterly,
[Translated by M.D. Taseer] [Translated by V.G. Kiernan] Karachi. April 1947
30 32
All life is voyaging,
all life in motion, This wonder by some glance is wrought,
Moon, stars, and creatures Or Fortune’s wheel has come full round:
of air and ocean. At last the Frankish charm has broke,
The East by which in past was bound.
To you the champion,
the lord of battle, By the building of my nest,
Bright angels offer This secret hid was brought to view
their swords’ devotion— That for the bards that sing and chant
The choice of nest is bolt from blue.
But of that blindness,
that caravan spirit! If slave to God, you grow divine,
Of your own greatness If slave to world a beggar mean:
you have no notion. You are the master of your fate,
So make the choice the two between.
How long this bondage
to darkness? Choose now: Of selfhood heedless never be,
A prince’s scepter,— Your gaze to self always confine:
a hermit’s potion. Who knows, you mat anon become
The threshold of some sacred shrine.

1 Two lines, “Be it the awe of Nadir…a barrel of O heir to creed no god but He,
wine,” have been provided by the editors. The In you I see no sign or trace
translator had left them out. Of mighty deeds that terror strike,
2 Two lines, “It was too hard…the secrets of the
Your talk devoid of charm and grace.
Book,” have been provided by the editors. The
Your glances bold would strike the heart 34
With awe, though sheathed within the
breast: When through the Love man conscious grows
Alas! a qalandar’s fervent zeal Of respect self‐awareness needs,
In you is dead and is at rest. Though in chains, he learns at once
The regal mode and kingly deeds.
Of Sanctuary’s secret hid
Iqbal perhaps is well aware: Like Rumi, Attar, Ghazzali and Razi,
His speech and song display alike One may be mystic great or wise,
A confidential mode and air. But none can reach his goal and aim
Without the help of morning sighs.
No need for leaders sage and great
33 To lose all hope of Muslim true:
What should I ask the sages about my origin: Though amiss this pilgrim be,
I am always wanting to know my goal. Yet can burn on fire like rue.
Develop the self so that before every decree O Bird, that yearn to merge with God, 3
God will ascertain from you: “What is your You must keep this truth in sight,
wish?” To suffer death is nobler far
Than bread that clogs your upward flight.
It is nothing to talk about if I transform base
selves into gold: A person poor and destitute,
The passion of my voice is the only alchemy I Who walks in steps of God’s Lion bold,
know! Is more exalt’d than monarchs great:
He spurns the worldly wealth and gold.
O Comrade, I beheld the secrets of Destiny in
them— Men bold and firm uphold the truth
What should I tell you of those lustrous eyes! And let no fears assail their hearts:
No doubt, the mighty Lions of God
Only if that majzub 1 of the West were living in
Know no tricks and know no arts.
these times,
Iqbal could have explained to him the ‘I am.’ 35
My heart bleeds from the song of the early Once more I feel the urge to wail
morning: And weep at dead of night:
O Lord! What is the sin for which this is a O traveller, stop a bit, perchance
punishment? I face some awful site.
[Translated by the Editors] 2 Awhile in dark abyss of Fate
Dive and see beneath:
Out of this battlefield I come
Like sword out of the sheath.
This verse some man with witty mind
1 Iqbal’s note—Nietzsche, the famous self‐absorbed
On niche of mosque did write:
German philosopher who could not interpret his
These fools fell prostrate on the earth,
inner experience correctly and was therefore
misled by his philosophical thoughts. When it was time to fight.”
2 The first four lines are based on a partial
O man, who at my misery scoff,
translation by Annemarie Schimmel in ‘The Ideal Follow the road you tread:
of Prayer in the Thought of Iqbal,’ included in Iqbal:
the Poet of Tomorrow, edited by Khawaja Adbur
Rahim. 3 Translator has made a gross error: Iqbal’s phrase
simply means the bird who flies to the Throne of God.
When the cup to me was passed, Of selfhood you appear bereft,
The gathering all had fled. To find the thing lost go on quest.
Iqbal his glow to Muslims lent, The stars do shine in boundless space,
Who in India dwell: Desire to get this lofty place.
An easy‐going man he was
Disrobed the houris of your mead,
And served the sluggards well.
The rose and tulip darning need.
To find Iqbal for years on end
Of urge, though Nature not deplete,
I did chafe and fret:
Yet where it fails you must complete.
By effort great that kingly hawk
Has come within my net. 38
36 Alas! The mullah and the priest,
Conduct their sermons so
Devoid of passion’s roar
That despite their efforts great,
I can exist no more:
The hearts of listeners fail to glow.
What else can be this life
But passion strong and strife? O fellow stupid, get firm belief,
For faith upon you can bestow
My essence endlessly
Dervishhood of such lofty brand
Impels my minstrelsy:
’Fore which the mighty monarchs bow.
Some may in throng be still,
Who feels for others’ ill. Disunion’s ache that I do feel
A thousand hues and garbs can don:
Love’s flame can still set fire
To rapture and surprise converts,
To lodge and goods entire:
Anon to sighs of early morn.
If thirst be not aflame,
Wherefore the saki blame? Secrets of love and passion strong
Transcend the ken of earthy breed:
Your judgment of the West
This much alone I learnt that death
On glamour must not rest:
Of heart disunion means indeed.
Its essence seems so bright
By means of electric light. The Fair with His own Beauty drunk
Is impelled to cast the Veil aside:
The thoughts of world conquest
The reasons of His remaining hid
Can never shape in breast,
Within my own dim sight abide.
If blessed not be your gaze
With world‐wide wont and ways. The rules that govern the Turn of Fate
No one can ever understand,
I, even in winter drear,
Else the heirs to Tamerlane
Fell not in hunter’s snare:
Were brave like those of Turkish Land.
My nest’s branches bare
Drew the hunter’s stare. How have the beggars of the Shrine
Brought Iqbal within their fold,
Their plans shall end in smoke,
Though monarchs great and princes strong
Miscarry the destined stroke:
A falcon white can’t get in hold?
This fact with truth is fraught,
No fiction of my thought. 39
37 The magic old to life is brought
By means of present science and thought:
Nature before your mind present,
The path of life cannot be trod
Subdue this world of hue and scent.
Without the aid of Moses’ Rod. 41
The mind is skilful in artful tasks, (Written in France)
And can assume a hundred masks:
Poor helpless Love that knows no guise The West seeks to make life a perpetual feast;
Ain’t mullah, hermit or too wise. A wish in vain, in vain, in vain!
Forbid the rest of lodge and bed Aware of my state, my spiritual guide assures
To those who road of Love do tread: me,
Like travellers they always roam, Thy ecstasy has reached the plenitude of its
Though they seem to stay at home. power.
Concern for journey’s food and steed, Moses asked for a Divine glimpse, but I do
Like burden great, retards your speed: not:
Of this dead weight, if one be free, The demand was right for him; but is
Like breeze can cross the mount and sea. forbidden for me.
No wealth is owned by dervish free, The plaint of the men of God betrays a
At call of death he yields with glee: suppressed secret;
He has not either gold or land, But the ways of the men of God are not meant
Of him no one can tithe demand. for all.
[Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] Zikr in the Sufis’ circle was devoid of ecstasy,
I remained unsatisfied, and so was everyone.
40
Love is thy goal, and mine, too, but both
Other worlds exist beyond the stars— Are so far novices on the path of love.
More tests of love are still to come.
Alas! Thou hast betrayed the secret of a fakir,
This vast space does not lack life— Though a fakir has wealth more than a king of
Hundreds of other caravans are here. men.
Do not be content with the world of colour [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]
and Smell,
Other gardens there are, other nests, too.
42
If self with knowledge strong becomes,
What is the worry if one nest is lost? Gabriel it can envious make:
There are other places to sigh and cry for! If fortified with passion great,
You are an eagle, flight is your vocation: Like trump of Israfil can shake.
You have other skies stretching out before The scourge of present science and thought,
you. To me, no doubt, is fully known,
Do not let mere day and night ensnare you, Like Abraham, the Friend of God,
Other times and places belong to you. In its flame I have been thrown.
Gone are the days when I was alone in The caravan in quest of goal
company— By charm of lodge is led astray,
Many here are my confidants now. Though never can the ease of lodge
Be same as joy to be on way.
If seeing eye you do not own,
Among my listeners do not pause,
For subtle points about the self,
Like sword, deep yawning wounds can The dust that will break the spell of the
cause. passing time one day,
Though it is entangled in the skein of Fate as
Still to mind I can recall,
yet.
In Europe what I learnt by heart:
But can the veil of Reason match [Translated by the Editors]
With joy that Presence can import.
45
From caravan you are adrift,
And night has donned a mantle black: To Lover’s glowing fire and flame
For you my song that burns as flame, The mystic order has no claim:
Like a torch, can light the track. They don’t discourse or talk of aught
Save wonders by their elders wrought.
The tale of the Holy Shrine, if told,
Is simple, strange and red in hue: Alas! The throne as well as the mat,
With Ismail the tale begins Alike are full of guile and craft:
Ends with Husain, the martyr true. Both royal hall and Holy Shrine
Have lost their essence fine.
43
The scrolls of Sufis and mullah may
The schools bestow no grace of fancy fine,
Put them to shame on Judgment Day
Cloisters impart no glow of Love Divine.
Before the Throne of Judge Supreme
The goal that Travellers seek is far and wide, For being empty in extreme.
Alas! There is no chief to lead and guide.
How can this world or next contain
No less than Khyber, the war of faith and The man not bound to one domain?
land, The East or West is not his home,
But warrior like Ali is not at hand. Not tied to Syrian Land or Rome.
Beyond the bounds of science for faithful Intoxication due to nightly wine,
thrall No doubt, by now, is one decline,
Is bliss of love and sight of God withal. But saki’s glance still pricks the heart,
Like a swift and piercing dart.
The chief of tavern thinks that West has raised
The house on shaking founds, whose walls My bitter notes with patience hark,
are glazed. That I utter in this park:
Bear it in mind that passion too
Oft can work like elixir true.
44 More dear and precious song replete
Events as yet folded in the scroll of Time With lightning’s dazzling flash and heat
Reflect in the mirror of my perception. Than coffers full of yellow gold
That mighty kings and chiefs do hold.
Neither the planets, nor the spinning skies—
Only my bold song—can tell you your [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
destiny.
46
Either my sighs are devoid of fire,
Intuition in the West was clever in its power,
Or else your straw and thorns as yet retain
But had not the plenitude for absolute abandon.
some sap;
The quintessence of life is the force of faith
Yet perchance my morning song
supreme—
May quicken the fire that your dust
It is a force denied to all our seats of learning.
contains—
The galaxies, the planets, the firmament, are all In whatsoever state you be,
Waiting for man’s rise, like a star in heaven. A fettered thrall or monarch free:
No wonder ever can be wrought,
Brains are bright and hearts are dark and eyes
With Love, if courage be not fraught.
are bold,
Is this the sum and substance of what our age 48
has gained? A monarch’s pomp and mighty arms
The world is a haystack for the fire of the Muslim Can never give such glee,
soul, As can be felt in presence of
But if thou art eyeless, thou canst not find thy A qalandar bold and free.
way. The world is like an idol house,
To a multitude of men, reason is the guide, God’s Friend, a person free:
They know not that frenzy has a wisdom of No doubt, this subtle point is hid
its own. In words, No god but He.
The world entire is a legacy of the Man of Faith: 1 The world that you with effort make
I say it on the authority of We would not have To you belongs alone:
created it. The world of brick and stone you see,
You cannot call your own.
The clay‐made man is still among
47 The vagrants on the road,
O manly heart, the goal you seek Though man beyond the moon and stars
Is hard to gain like gem unique: Can find his true abode.
Get firm resolve and freedom true, This news I have received from those
If aim of life you wish to woo. Who rule the sea and land,
Like Sanjar great and Tughral just That Europe lies on course of flood
To rule and conquer learn you must: ’Gainst which no one can stand.
Or like a qalandar true and bold A world there is quite fresh and new
The wont and way of monarch hold. In sighs at morn I have:
Farabi’s thirst for lore beget, Your portion seek within its tracts,
Or Rumi’s fever great and fret: Thus goal and aim achieve.
You need a thinker’s lofty gaze, Count my gourd an immense gain,
Or Moses’ passion to amaze. For pure and sparkling wine
Learn the wolfish tricks and guile, No more the seats of learning store
Be like Franks in wit and wile: Nor sells the Sacred Shrine.
Else own the passion of God’s Hand, [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
Or strike the foes like Tartar band.
49
Act on Muslim law and rites,
Or sit in fane like acolytes: On me no subtle brain though Nature spent,
Be it the Shrine or temple high, My dust hides strength to dare the high
Ever like a drunkard cry. ascent—
That frantic dust whose eye outranges reason,
Dust by whose madness Gabriel’s rose is rent;
1 Two lines, “The world entire…would not have
That will not creep about its garden gathering
created it,” have been provided by the editors since
the translator had left them out.
Straw for a nest—un‐housed and yet content.
And Allah to this dust a gift of tears To throngs of Heaven he has taught,
Whose brightness shames the constellations, lent. Like man, to fret and pine.
To clay‐made man he fain would teach
50 The wont and mode divine.
By men whose eyes see far and wide new
52
cities shall be founded:
Not by old Kufa or Baghdad is my thought’s Over the tussle of heart and head
vision bounded. Rumi has won and Rizi fled.
Rash youth, new‐fangled learning, giddy Still bowl of Jamshid is alive,
pleasure, gaudy plume,— Without guile kingship cannot thrive.
With these, while these still swarm, the
Both you and I aren’t Muslims true,
Frankish wine‐shop is surrounded.
Though we say the prayers due.
Not with philosopher, nor with priest, my
I know the end of wrangle well
business; one lays waste
Where mullahs at each other yell.
The heart, and one sows discord to keep mind
and soul confounded; Turkish and Arabic both are sweet,
For talk of Love all tongues are meet.
And for the Pharisee—far from this poor
worm be disrespect! The breed of Azar idols make,
But how to enfranchise Man, is all the problem I But Friends of God these idols break.
have sounded. You are alive and live for aye
The fleshpots of the wealthy are for sale about The rest is all a play with clay.
the world; [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
Who bears love’s toils and pangs earns wealth
that God’s hand has compounded. 53
I have laid bare such mysteries as the hermit Arise! The bugle calls! It is time to leave!
learns, that thought, Woe be to the traveller who still awaits!
In cloister or in college, in true freedom may
The confines of a monastery suit thee not—
be grounded.
The times have changed, thou seest, and so hast
No fastings of Mahatmas will destroy the thou.
Brahmins’ sway;
Thorny is the path, O seeker of salvation!
Vainly, when Moses holds no rod, have all his
Whether thy heart is the slave or the master of
words resounded!
reason.
The selfhood of one who bemoans all change,
51 Is yet a prisoner of time, shackled by days and
nights.
To God the angels did complain
ʹGainst Iqbal and did say O songbird! Thy song is well rewarded when
That rude and insolent is he, It infuses fire into the rose’s bloom.
Nature he paints much gay. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]
Though born of mud and water, yet
54
A god assumes to be:
Not bound to any home or land, The Gnostic and the common throng
Of earthly ties is free. New life have gained through my song:
I have conferred relish fine
On them for Loveʹs fiery wine. 56
Some Ajami near the Holy Shrine In the maze of eve and morn,
Did sadly sing this song and pine, O man awake, do not be lost:
“Alas! the robes by pilgrims worn Another world there yet exists
To threads and pieces now are torn.” That has no future or the past.
The place of Husain, the Martyr great None knows that tumult’s worth and price
Is fact, not bound to Space or Date, Which hidden lies in future’s womb:
Though the Syrians and the Kufis may The mosque, the school and tavern too
Often change their wont and way. Since long are silent like a tomb.
The gamblers who with you compete In tears shed at early morn
Are deft of band and they can cheat: Is found the gem unique and best,
Your fumbling shaky hands, I fear, The gem, whose like is never held,
May bring about your ruin so drear. By mother shell within its breast.
No wonder If the Muslims gain The Culture New is nothing else
Their ancient glory once again– Save glamour false and show, indeed:
Sanjarʹs splendour pomp and state, If the face be fair and bright,
The piety and faqr of mystics great. Rouge vendors aid it does not need.
The robe of art and lore I wear Much care and caution must he take,
Is through Your special bounty there: Who sets the music of a song:
You know my coarse and homely frame, For oft the Voice Unseen inspires
To honour great I have no claim. Such airs as jarring are and wrong.
55 57
Through many a stage the crescent goes The cloisters, once the rearing place
And then at last full moon it grows: Of daring men and royal breed,
Perfection no one can attain, Alas! Now nothing else impart—
Save by dint of strife and strain. To foxy ways they pay much heed.
The bud that gets no share of light The chiefs who lead the caravan train,
From the sun that shines so bright, Of that virtue quite are blank,
And opens through its inner urge Which is found in shepherd’s task
Is bereft of life’s full surge. And leads to Moses’ noble rank.
If your gaze of sins be free, How can the birds with voices sweet
Then chaste and pure your heart shall be, The thrilling joy of song attain?
For God the Mighty has decreed Alas! The birds in hostile mead
That heart shall follow and gaze shall lead. Cannot their breath for long sustain.
The tulip red with heart afire One type of rapture and surprise
In avenue could not thrive and spire, Is darkness deep and pitch complete;
As this world of corn and wheat The other rapture and surprise
For tulip wild could not be meet. With love and knowledge is replete.
Great wars by Aibak and Ghauri fought My thoughts sublime that soar aloft,
By the world are all forgot; Like the flash of lightning, show the way;
But the lays of Khusrau still Lest travellers in the dark of night
Our hearts with joy and pleasure fill. Should miss the track and go astray.
58 Within your clay, if there exist
A heart alive and wide awake,
From Salman 1, singer sweet, The glass of sun and moon as well
This subtle point I know: One look of yours forthwith can break.
That world is wide enough
For those who courage show. 60
A man can live without In my craze that knows no bound,
The light of science and art; Of the Mosque I made the round:
But needs hawk’s zeal for quest Thank God that outer vest of Shrine
And tiger’s reckless heart. Still was left untorn and fine.
Desist from imitation I wish good luck and pleasure great,
Of peacock and nightingale: To all, of faith who always prate
The one is only hue, But all the jurists of the town
The other chant and wail. With one accord upon me frown.
59 Men, like Plato, still roam about
Betwixt belief and utter doubt
The crown, the throne, and mighty arms Men endowed with reason, aye,
By faqr are wrought these wonders all: Ever on the heights do stay.
In short, it is the chief of chiefs
And king of other kings withal. Unless the Bookʹs each verse and part
Be revealed unto your heart,
By means of learning mind and brain, Interpreters, though much profound,
No doubt, become refined and pure: Its subtle points cannot expound
Faqr makes the heart and gaze of man
From earthly filth and dross secure. The joy that Frankish wine does give
Lasts not for long nor always live,
Scholar and sage knowledge makes, Though scum at bottom of its bowl
But Christ and Moses by faqr are wrought: Is always pure and never foul.
To faqr the road is fully known,
Of road the scholar knows not aught. 61
The state of seeing faqr bestows, Knowledge and reason work in manner
But knowledge makes on new rely: strange,
Rapture in faqr is virtue great, In case of Love ’gainst heart and sight they
Whereas in knowledge sin so high. range.
One God there is that knowledge owns The end of Muslim folk I know full well,
To other God faqr lays a claim: On theoretic points their preachers dwell.
No god but He, I do proclaim,
Though bird of mead hovers my lodge around,
No god but He, I do proclaim.
Yet has no share of my melodious sound.
On the whetting stone of faqr,
The Turks, I hear, between the lines can read,
When sword of Self gets sharp and bright,
Who can this verse so odd convey with speed?
A single stroke by warrior bold
Can out an army big to flight. ʺYou take the West for neighbour sweet and
dear,
Though Stars to land of yours are close and

1
near.ʺ
Iqbal’s note—Salman [refers to] Masud Sa‘ad
Salman, the famous poet of the Ghaznavid era who [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
was probably born in Lahore.
* Western thought is bereft of the idea of
Oneness,
The rituals of the Sanctuary unsanctified!
Because the Western civilization has no
The Church commercialized.
Ka‘bah.
My torn apparel aught to be valued much,
For madness has become rare these days! [Translated by M. Munawwar Mirza] 1
[Translated by the Editors] *
* A restless heart throbs in every atom;
It has its abode, alone, in a multitude;
O wave! Plunge headlong into the dark seas,
Impaled upon the wheel of days and nights,
And change thyself with many a twist and
It remains unchained by the tyranny of time.
turn;
Thou wast not born for the solace of the shore; [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]
Arise, untamed, and find a path for thyself.
*
*
I wish someone saw how I play the flute—
Am I bound by space, or beyond space? The breath is Indian, the tune Arabian!
A world‐observer or a world myself? My vision has a taint of the Western style;
Let Him remain happy in His Infinitude, I am a Ghaznavi by temper, but my fate is
But condescend to tell me where I am. that of an Ayaz!
* [Translated by Mustansir Mir]
Confused is the nature of my love for Thee, *
And more confused is my song in Thy praise;
Thy vision is not lofty, ethereal,
For I sometimes do relish fulfillment,
Thou dost not have the flight of a faith
At other times, a yearning in my heart.
inspired;
* Thou mayest be of an eagle breed, no doubt,
Thou dost not have those bold, piercing eyes.
I was in the solitude of selfhood lost,
And was, it seemed, unaware of the Presence; *
I lifted not my eyes to see my Friend,
Neither the Muslim nor his power survives;
And, on the Day of Judgment, shamed myself.
The Sufi has outlived his radiant soul;
[Translated by Naim Siddiqui] Ask God for the heart and soul of men of the
past,
*
Become a fakir, first, to regain thy power.
Faith, like Abraham, sits down in the fire;
*
To have faith is to be drawn into God and to
be oneself. Distracted are thy eyes in myriad ways;
Listen, you captive of modern civilization, Distracted is thy reason in many pursuits;
To lack faith is worse than slavery! Forsake not, O heart, thy morning sighs!
Chanting His name, thou mayest save thy
soul.
*
*
Arabian fervour has within it the Persian
melodies, Selfhood in the world of men is prophethood;
The hidden purpose of the Sanctuary is to Selfhood in solitude is godliness;
unify all nations.

1 A few words have been altered for brevity.
The earth, the heavens, the great empyrean, *
Are all within the range of selfhoodʹs power.
Dew‐drops glisten on flowers that bloom in
* the spring;
The breeze, the jasmine, and the rose have
The beauty of mystic love is shaped in song;
failed
The majesty of mystic love is abandon;
To raise the tumult of joy and liveliness,
The peak of mystic love is Hyderʹs power;
For flowers here lack the spark and fire of life.
The decline of mystic love is Raziʹs word.
*
*
Conquer the world with the power of
Where is the moving spirit of my life?
selfhood,
The thunder‐bolt, the harvest of my life?
And solve the riddle of the universe;
His place is in the solitude of the heart,
Be intimate with thy shores, like the sea,
But I know not the place of the heart within.
But avoid the surf around the boundless deep.
*
Thy bosom has breath; it does not have a
*
heart;
Thy breath has not the warmth and fire of life; Reason makes the traveller sharp‐sighted.
Renounce the path of reason; it is a light What is reason? It is a lamp that lights up our
That brightens thy way; it is not thy Final path.
goal. The commotion raging inside the house—
What does the traveller’s lamp know of it!
*
I am not a pursuer, nor a traveller,
I am not a goal, but a narrow track,
I am not a harvest, but a thunder‐bolt,
Born to set fire to straw, buried in the dust.
* A PRAYER
Pure in nature thou art, thy nature is light; (Written in the Mosque of Cordoba)
Thou art the star in the firmament; My invocations are sincere and true,
Thou not an eagle of the King of Men, They form my ablutions and prayers due.
Thy preys are the nymphs and the angels
bright. One glance of guide such joy and warmth can
grant,
[Translated by Naim Siddiqui] On marge of stream can bloom the tulip plant.
* One has no comrade on Love’s journey long
They no longer have that passionate love— Save fervent zeal, and passion great and
Muslims are drained of blood. strong.
The rows are uneven, the hearts adrift, the O God, at gates of rich I do not bow,
prostration joyless— You are my dwelling place and nesting
All this because the inner feeling is dead! bough.
[Translated by Mustansir Mir] Your Love in my breast burns like Doomsday
morn,
The cry, He is God, on my lips is born.
Your Love, makes me God, fret with pain and Now sitting in judgement on you,
pine, Now setting a value on me.
You are the only quest and aim of mine. But what if you are found wanting.
What if I am found wanting.
Without You town appears devoid of life,
Death is your ultimate destiny.
When present, same town appears astir with
Death is my ultimate destiny.
strife.
What else is the reality of your days
For wine of gnosis I request and ask, and nights,
To get some dregs I break the cup and glass. Besides a surge in the river of time,
The mystics’ gourds and commons’ pitchers Sans day, sans night.
wait Frail and evanescent, all miracles of
For liquor of your Grace and Bounty great. ingenuity,
Transient, all temporal attainments;
Against Your godhead I have a genuine Ephemeral, all worldly accomplishments.
plaint, Annihilation is the end of all
For You the Spaceless, while for me restraint. beginnings.
Both verse and wisdom indicate the way Annihilation is the end of all ends.
Which longing face to face can not convey. Extinction, the fate of everything;
Hidden or manifest, old or new.
Yet in this very scenario
* Indelible is the stamp of permanence
The mysticʹs soul is like the morning breeze: On the deeds of the good and godly.
It freshens and renews lifeʹs inner meaning; Deeds of the godly radiate with Love,
An illumined soul can be a shepherdʹs, who The essence of life,
Could hear the Voice of God at Godʹs Which death is forbidden to touch.
command. Fast and free flows the tide of time,
But Love itself is a tide that stems all tides.
In the chronicle of Love there are times
THE MOSQUE OF CORDOBA Other than the past, the present and the
future;
(Written in Spain, especially Cordoba) Times for which no names have yet
The succession of day and night been coined.
Is the architect of events. Love is the breath of Gabriel.
The succession of day and night Love is the heart of Mustafa.
Is the fountain‐head of life and death. Love is the messenger of God.
The succession of day and night Love is the Word of God.
Is a two‐tone silken twine, Love is ecstasy lends luster to earthly
With which the Divine Essence forms.
Prepares Its apparel of Attributes. Love is the heady wine,
The succession of day and night Love is the grand goblet.
Is the reverberation of the symphony of Love is the commander of marching troops.
Creation. Love is a wayfarer with many a way‐side
Through its modulations, the Infinite abode.
demonstrates Love is the plectrum that brings
The parameters of possibilities. Music to the string of life.
The succession of day and night Love is the light of life.
Is the touchstone of the universe; Love is the fire of life.
To Love, you owe your being, Like the profusion of palms
O, Harem of Cordoba, In the plains of Syria.
To Love, that is eternal; Your arches, your terraces, shimmer with the
Never waning, never fading. light
Just the media these pigments, bricks That once flashed in the valley of Aiman
and stones; Your soaring minaret, all aglow
This harp, these words and sounds, just In the resplendence of Gabriel’s glory.
the media. The Muslim is destined to last
The miracle of art springs from the As his Azan holds the key to the
lifeblood of the artist! mysteries
A droplet of the lifeblood Of the perennial message of Abraham
Transforms a piece of dead rock into a living and Moses.
heart; His world knows no boundaries,
An impressive sound, into a song of His horizon, no frontiers.
solicitude, Tigris, Danube and Nile:
A refrain of rapture or a melody of mirth. Billows of his oceanic expanse.
The aura you exude, illumines the Fabulous, have been his times!
heart. Fascinating, the accounts of his
My plaint kindles the soul. achievements!
You draw the hearts to the Presence He it was, who bade the final adieu
Divine, To the outworn order.
I inspire them to bloom and blossom. A cup‐bearer is he,
No less exalted than the Exalted Throne, With the purest wine for the connoisseur;
Is the throne of the heart, the human breast! A cavalier in the path of Love
Despite the limit of azure skies, With a sword of the finest steel.
Ordained for this handful of dust. A combatant, with la ilah
Celestial beings, born of light, As his coat of mail.
Do have the privilege of supplication, Under the shadow of flashing
But unknown to them scimitars,
Are the verve and warmth of La ilah is his protection.
prostration.
Your edifice unravels
An Indian infidel, perchance, am I;
The mystery of the faithful;
But look at my fervour, my ardour.
The fire of his fervent days,
‘Blessings and peace upon the Prophet,’ sings
The bliss of his tender nights.
my heart.
Your grandeur calls to mind
‘Blessings and peace upon the Prophet,’ echo
The loftiness of his station,
my lips.
The sweep of his vision,
My song is the song of aspiration.
His rapture, his ardour, his pride, his
My lute is the serenade of longing.
humility.
Every fibre of my being
The might of the man of faith
Resonates with the refrains of Allah hoo!
Is the might of the Almighty:
Your beauty, your majesty, Dominant, creative, resourceful, consummate.
Personify the graces of the man of faith. He is terrestrial with celestial aspect;
You are beautiful and majestic. A being with the qualities of the
He too is beautiful and majestic. Creator.
Your foundations are lasting, His contented self has no demands
Your columns countless, On this world or the other.
His desires are modest; his aims exalted; Its breeze, even today,
His manner charming; his ways winsome. Is laden with the fragrance of Yemen.
Soft in social exposure, Its music, even today,
Tough in the line of pursuit. Carries strains of melodies from Hijaz.
But whether in fray or in social
Stars look upon your precincts as a piece of
gathering,
heaven.
Ever chaste at heart, ever clean in
conduct. But for centuries, alas!
In the celestial order of the macrocosm, Your porticoes have not resonated
His immutable faith is the centre of the Divine With the call of the muezzin.
Compass. What distant valley, what way‐side abode
All else: illusion, sorcery, fallacy. Is holding back
He is the journey’s end for reason, That valiant caravan of rampant Love.
He is the raison d ’etre of Love. Germany witnessed the upheaval of religious
An inspiration in the cosmic reforms
communion. That left no trace of the old perspective.
Infallibility of the church sage began to
O, Mecca of art lovers,
ring false.
You are the majesty of the true tenet.
Reason, once more, unfurled its sails.
You have elevated Andalusia
France too went through its revolution
To the eminence of the holy Harem.
That changed the entire orientation of
Your equal in beauty,
Western life.
If any under the skies,
Followers of Rome,
Is the heart of the Muslim
Feeling antiquated worshipping the
And no one else.
ancientry,
Ah, those men of truth,
Also rejuvenated themselves
Those proud cavaliers of Arabia;
With the relish of novelty.
Endowed with a sublime character,
The same storm is raging today
Imbued with candour and conviction.
In the soul of the Muslim.
Their reign gave the world an
A Divine secret it is,
unfamiliar concept;
Not for the lips to utter.
That the authority of the brave and
Let us see what surfaces
spirited
From the depths of the deep.
Lay in modesty and simplicity,
Let us see what colour
Rather than pomp and regality.
The blue sky changes into.
Their sagacity guided the East and the West.
In the dark ages of Europe, Clouds in the yonder valley
It was the light of their vision Are drenched in roseate twilight.
That lit up the tracks. The parting sun has left behind
A tribute to their blood it is, Mounds and mounds of rubies, the best from
That the Andalusians, even today, Badakhshan.
Are effable and warm‐hearted, Simple and doleful is the song
Ingenuous and bright of countenance. Of the peasant’s daughter:
Even today in this land, Tender feelings adrift in the tide of
Eyes like those of gazelles are a common youth.
sight.
And darts shooting out of those eyes,
Even today, are on target.
O, the ever‐flowing waters of Guadalquivir 1, How whimsical and indifferent

Someone on your banks Is the Author of fates.
Is seeing a vision of some other period of
time.
Tomorrow is still in the womb of FIRST DATE TREE SEEDED BY ABDUL
intention, RAHMAN THE FIRST
But its dawn is flashing before my
mind’s eye. These verses from Abdul Rahman the First
Were I to lift the veil are quoted in Tarikh al Muqqari. The
From the profile of my reflections, following Urdu poem is a liberal
The West would be dazzled by its brilliance. translation (the tree mentioned here was
Life without change is death. planted in Madinatut Zahra)
The tumult and turmoil of revolution You are the apple of my eye,
Keep the soul of a nation alive. My heart’s delight:
Keen, as a sword in the hands of Destiny I am remote from my valley,
Is the nation To me you are the Burning Bush of Sinai!
That evaluates its actions at each step. You are a houri of the Arabian Desert,
Incomplete are all creations Nursed by the Western breeze.
Without the lifeblood of the creator. I feel homesick in exile,
Soulless is the melody You feel homesick in exile:
Without the lifeblood of the maestro. Prosper in this strange land!
[Translated by Saleem A. Gilani] May the morning dew quench your thirst!
The world presents a strange sight:
MU‘TAMID’S LAMENT IN PRISON
The vision’s mantle is torn apart—
Mu‘tamid was the king of Seville and an May valour struggle with the waves if it must,
Arabic poet. He was defeated and The other side of the river is not to be seen!
imprisoned by a ruler of Spain. Mu‘tamid’s Life owes itself to the heat of one’s soul:
poems have been translated into English Flame does not rise from dust.
and published in the Wisdom of the East The Syrian evening’s fallen star
series. Shined brighter in the exile’s dawn.
In my breast, There are no frontiers for the Man of Faith,
A wail of grief, He is at home everywhere.
Without any spark or flash, [Translated by the Editors]
Alone survives,
*
Passionless, ineffectual.
A free man is in prison today, That blood of pristine vigour is no more;
Without a spear or a sword; That yearning heartʹs power is no more;
Regret overwhelms me Prayer, fasting, hajj, sacrifice survive,
And also my strategy. But in thee natureʹs old dower is no more.
My heart
Is drawn by instinct to chains.
Perhaps my sword was of the same steel. SPAIN
Once I had a two‐edged sword–
(Written in Spain—on the way back)
It turned into the chains that shackle me now.
Spain! You are the trustee of the Muslim
Note from Iqbal—“The well‐known river of
1 blood:
Cordoba, near which the Mosque is located.” In my eyes you are sanctified like the Harem.
Prints of prostration lie hidden in your dust, They think of death, not as life’s end,
Silent calls to prayers in your morning air. But as the ennobling of the heart.
In your hills and vales were the tents of those,
Awaken in them an iron will,
The tips of whose lances were bright like the
And make their eye a sharpened sword.
stars.
Is more henna needed by your pretties? [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]
My lifeblood can give them some colour! *
How can a Muslim be put down by the straw This revolution of time is eternal;
and grass, Only you are real, the rest is nothing but tales
Even if his flame has lost its heat and fire! and legends.
My eyes watched Granada as well, No one has ever seen yesterday or tomorrow:
But the traveller’s content neither in journey Today is the only time that is yours!
nor in rest:
I saw as well as showed, I spoke as well as [Translated by Mustansir Mir]
listened,
LENIN
Neither seeing nor learning brings calm to the
heart! (Before God)
* All space and all that breathes bear witness;
truth
The veiled secrets are becoming manifest—
It is indeed; Thou art, and dost remain.
Bygone the days of you cannot see Me;
How could I know that God was or was not,
Whosoever finds his self first,
Where Reasonʹs reckonings shifted hour by
Is Mahdi himself, the Guide of the Last Age.
hour?
[Translated by the Editors] The peerer at planets, the counter‐up of
plants,
Heard nothing there of Natureʹs infinite
TARIQ’S PRAYER music;
(In the Battlefield of Andalusia) To‐day I witnessing acknowledge realms
That I once thought the mummery of the
These warriors, victorious,
Church.
These worshippers of Thine,
We, manacled in the chains of day and night!
Whom Thou hast granted the will Thou, moulder of all timeʹs atoms, builder of
To win power in Thy name; aeons!
Let me have leave to ask this question, one
Who cleave rivers and woods in twain,
Not answered by the subtleties of the schools,
Whose terror turns mountains into dust;
That while I lived under the sky‐tentʹs roof
They care not for the world; Like a thorn rankled in my heart, and made
They care not for its pleasures; Such chaos in my soul of all its thoughts
In their passion, in their zeal, I could not keep my tumbling words in
In their love for Thee, O Lord, bounds.
Oh, of what mortal race art Thou the God?
They aim at martyrdom, Those creatures formed of dust beneath these
Not the rule of the earth. heavens?
Thou hast united warring tribes, Europeʹs pale cheeks are Asiaʹs pantheon,
In thought, in deed, in prayer. And Europeʹs pantheon her glittering metals.
A blaze of art and science lights the West
The burning fire that life had sought
For centuries, was found in them at last.
With darkness that no Fountain of Life Drunkards, jurists, princes and priests all sit
dispels; in ambush upon Your common folk:
In high‐reared grace, in glory and in The days in Your world haven’t changed as
grandeur, yet.
The towering Bank out‐tops the cathedral
Your rich are too unmindful, Your poor too
roof;
content—
What they call commerce is a game of dice
The slave as yet frets in the street, the master’s
For one, profit, for millions swooping death.
walls are still too high.
There science, philosophy, scholarship,
government, Learning, religion, science and art are all
Preach manʹs equality and drink menʹs blood; means to fulfill lust:
Naked debauch, and want, and The grace of Love—the redeemer—is not as
unemployment— yet bestowed upon all.
Are these mean triumphs of the Frankish arts! The essence of Life is Love, the essence of
Denied celestial grace a nation goes Love is the self;
No further than electricity or steam; Alas! This cutting sword as yet rests in the
Death to the heart, machines stand sovereign, sheath!
Engines that crush all sense of human
kindness. [Translated by the Editors]
‐‐Yet signs are counted here and there that
GOD’S COMMAND
Fate,
The chess‐player, has check‐mated all their (To His Angels)
cunning. Rise, and from their slumber wake the poor
The Tavern shakes, its warped foundations ones of My world!
crack, Shake the walls and windows of the mansions
The Old Men of Europe sit there numb with of the great!
fear; Kindle with the fire of faith the slow blood of
What twilight flush is left those faces now the slaves!
Is paint and powder, or lent by flask and cup. Make the fearful sparrow bold to meet the
Omnipotent, righteous, Thou; but bitter the falcon’s hate!
hours, Close the hour approaches of the kingdom of
Bitter the labourerʹs chained hours in Thy the poor—
world! Every imprint of the past find and annihilate!
When shall this galley of goldʹs dominion Find the field whose harvest is no peasant’s
flounder? daily bread—
Thy world Thy day of wrath, Lord, stands Garner in the furnace every ripening ear of
and waits. wheat!
[Translated by V.G. Kiernan] Banish from the house of God the mumbling
priest whose prayers
SONG OF THE ANGLES Like a veil creation from Created separate!
As yet the Reason is unbridled, and Love is on God by man’s prostrations, by man’s vows idols
the road: cheated—
O Architect of Eternity! Your design is Quench at once My shrine and their fane the
incomplete. sacred light!
Rear for me another temple, build its walls
with mud—
Wearied of their columned marbles, sickened To whom should I say that the wine of life is
is My sight! poison to me:
All their fine new world a workshop filled I have new experiences while the universe is
with brittle glass— decadent entire.
Go! My poet of the East to madness dedicate. Is there not another Ghaznavi in the factory of
Life?—
The Somnaths of the People of the Harem
* have been awaiting a blow for long.
Theorizing is the infidelity of the self: The Arabian fervour and the Persian comfort
To be a Moses is the secret of the self; Have both lost the Arabian acuteness and the
Let me tell you the mystery of faqr as well as Persian imagination.
power: The Caravan of Hijaz has not another Husain
Guard your self while in poverty. amongst it—
Although the tresses of the Tigris and the
[Translated by the Editors] Euphrates are still as bright as ever.
Intellect, heart and vision, all must take their
ECSTASY
first lessons from Love—
(Most of these verses were written in Palestine) Religion and the religious law breed idols of
I could not go to my friends empty‐ illusion if there is no Love.
handed The truthfulness of Abraham is but a form of
From an orchard! Love, and so is the patience of Husain—
And so are Badr and Hunayn in the battle of
—Saadi existence.
Life to passion and ecstasy—sunrise in the The universe is a verse of God and you are the
desert: meaning to be grasped at last;
Luminous brooks are flowing from the Colour and scent are the caravans that set
fountain of the rising sun. forth to seek you.
The veil of being is torn, Eternal Beauty The disciples in the schools are insipid and
reveals itself: purblind;
The eye is dazzled but the soul is richly The esoteric of the monastery have low aims
endowed. with empty bowls;
The heavy night‐cloud has left behind it red I—whose ghazal reflects the flame that has
and blue cloudlets: been lost,
It has given a head‐dress of various hues to All my life I pined after the type of men that
the Mount Idam to wear. exists no more.
Air is clean of dust particles; leaves of date‐ The zephyr nurtures thorn and straw,
palms have been washed; While my breath nurtures passion in hearts;
The sand around Kazimah is soft like velvet. My song thrives upon my lifeblood:
The remains of burnt‐out fire are observable The strings of the instrument become alive
here and a piece of tent‐rope there: with the blood of the musician.
Who knows how many caravans have passed Give not occasion for conturbation to this
through this tract. restless heart;
I heard the angel Gabriel saying to me: This Bright are your tresses, brighten them even
indeed is your station— more.
For those acquainted with the pleasure of
separation, this is the everlasting comfort.
You are the Sacred Tablet, You are the Pen THE MOTH AND THE FIREFLY
and the Book;
This blue‐colored dome is a bubble in the sea THE MOTH
that you are. The firefly is so far removed
You are the lifeblood of the universe: From the status of the moth!
You bestowed the illumination of a sun upon Why is it so proud
the particles of desert dust. Of a fire that cannot burn?
The splendour of Sanjar and Selim: a mere
hint of your majesty; THE FIREFLY
The faqr of Junaid and Bayazid: your beauty God be thanked a hundred times, That I am
unveiled. not a moth–
If my prayers are not led by my passion for That I am no beggar
you, Of alien fire!
My ovation as well as my prostrations would [Translated by Mustansir Mir]
be nothing but veils upon my soul.
A meaningful glance from you redeemed both TO JAVID
of them: A nation’s life is illumined by selfhood,
Reason—the seeker in separation; and Love— Selfhood is the pathway to everlasting life.
the restless one in Presence.
The world has become dark since the sun has This one thing that Adam is not without the
set down; Purpose—
Unveil your beauty to dawn upon this age. A manifold life, a manifold leisure! 1
You are a witness on my life so far: Earth‐bound crows cannot aspire to the
I did not know that Knowledge is a tree that eagle’s flights,
bears no fruit. But they corrupt the eagle’s lofty, noble
The old battle was then revived in my habits.
conscience: May God make thee a virtuous, blameless
Love, all Mustafa; Reason, all Abu Lahab. youth;
It persuaded me with art, it pulled me by Thou livest in an age deprived of decency.
force:
Strange is Love at the beginning, strange in its Iqbal was not at ease in a monastery,
perfection! For he is bright, and sprightly, and full of wit,
Separation is greater than union in the state of MENDICANCY
ecstasy;
For union is death to desire while separation A witty man in a tavern spoke with a tongue
brings the pleasure of longing. untamed:
In the midst of the union I dared not cast a “The ruler of our state is a beggar unashamed;
glance; How many go bare‐headed to deck him with
Though my audacious eye was looking for a a crown?
pretence. How many go naked to supply his golden
Separation is the warmth of hot‐pursuit; it is gown?
at the heart of fond lamentation— The blood of the poor turns into his red wine;
It is why the wave is in search; it is why the And they starve so that he may in luxury
pearl is precious. dine.

[Translated by the Editors] 1 Two lines, “This one thing…a manifold leisure!”
have been provided by the editors. The translator
left them out.
The epicure’s table is loaded with delights, It is the miracle of a desert‐dweller
Stolen from the needy, stripped of all their To make the grace a mirror to power. 1
rights. Mankind’s deliverance lies in the unity
He is a beggar who begs money, be it large or Of those who rule the body and those who
small, rule the soul.
Kings with royal pomp and pride, in fact, are
beggars all.”
—Adapted from Anwari
THE EARTH IS GODʹS
[Translated by Naim Siddiqui] Who rears the seed in the darkness of the
earth?
HEAVEN AND THE PRIEST Who lifts the cloud up from the ocean’s
waves?
Being present there, my impetuous tongue
Who summoned from the West the fruitful
To silence I could not resign
wind?
When an order from God of admission on
Whose soil is this? Or whose that light of the
high
sun?
Came the way of that reverend divine;
Who filled the grain like pearls, the ripe corn’s
I humbly addressed the Almighty: O Lord,
ear?
Excuse this presumption of mine,
Who taught the months by instruction to
But he’ll never relish the virgins of heaven,
revolve?
The garden’s green borders, the wine!
Landlord! This broad plough‐land is not
For paradise isn’t place for a preacher
thine, it is not thine;
To meddle and meddle and mangle,
Nor thy father’s land; it is not thine, it is not
And he, pious man—second nature to him
mine.
Is the need to dispute and to jangle;
His business has been to set folk by the ears [Translated by Sir Abdul Qadir]
And get nations and sects in a tangle:
Up there in the sky is no Mosque and no
TO A YOUNG MAN
Church Thy sofas are from Europe, thy carpets from
And no Temple—with whom will he Iran;
wrangle? This slothful opulence evokes my sigh of pity.
[Translated by V.G. Kiernan] In vain if thou possessest Khusroe’s imperial
pomp,
CHURCH AND STATE If thou dost not possess prowess or
contentment.
Monasticism was the church’s base
Seek not thy joy or greatness in the glitter of
Its austere living had no room for wealth.
Western life,
The anchorite and the king have ever been
For in contentment lies a Muslim’s joy and
hostile;
greatness.
One has humility; the other an exalted power.
Church and state were separated at last; When an eagle’s spirit awakens in youthful
The revered priest was rendered powerless. hearts,
When church and state parted the ways for It sees its luminous goal beyond the starry
ever, heavens.
It set in the rule of avarice and greed.
This split is a disaster both for country and
1 Two lines, “It is the miracle…to the power,” have
faith,
been provided by the editors since the translator
And shows the culture’s blind lack of vision.
had left them out.
Despair not, for despair is the decline of *
knowledge and gnosis:
Iqbal recited once in a garden in Spring
The Hope of a Believer is among the
A couplet cheerful and bright in tone and
confidants of God. 1
spirit:
Thy abode is not on the dome of a royal palace;
Unlike the rose, I need no breeze to blossom.,
Thou art an eagle and shouldst live on the
My soul doth blossom with my ecstasy.
rocks of mountains.
SAKINAMA
COUNSEL
Spring’s caravan has pitched its tent
An eagle full of years to a young hawk said—
At the foot of the mountain, making it
Easy your royal wings through high heaven
Look like the fabled garden of Iram
spread:
With a riot of flowers—iris, rose,
To burn in the fire of our own veins is youth!
Narcissus, lily, eglantine,
Strive, and in strife make honey of life’s gall;
And tulip in its martyr’s gory shroud.
Maybe the blood of the pigeon you destroy,
The landscape is all covered with
My son, is not what makes your swooping
A multicoloured sheet, and colour flows
joy!
Even in the veins of stones like blood.
POPPY OF THE WILDERNESS The breezes blow intoxicatingly
In a blue sky, so that the birds
Oh blue sky‐dome, oh world companionless! Do not feel like remaining in their nests
Fear comes on me in this wide desolation. And fly about. Look at that hill‐stream. How
Lost travellers, you and I; what destination It halts and bends and glides and swings
Is yours, bright poppy of the wilderness? around,
No prophet walks these hills, or we might And then, collecting itself, surges up
be And rushes on. Should it be stemmed, it
Twin Sinai‐flames; you bloom on Heaven’s would
spray Cut open the hills’ hearts and burst the rocks.
For the same cause I tore myself away: This hill‐stream, my fair saki, has
To unfold; to be our selves, our wills agree. A message to give us concerning life.
On the diver of Love’s pearl‐bank be God’s Attune me to this message and,
hand— Come, let us celebrate the spring,
In every ocean‐drop all ocean’s deeps! Which comes but once a year.
The whirlpool mourning for its lost wave Give me that wine whose heat
weeps, Burns up the veils of hidden things,
Born of the sea and never to reach the land. Whose light illuminates life’s mind,
Man’s hot blood makes earth’s fevered Whose strength intoxicates the universe,
pulses race, Whose effervescence was Creation’s source.
With stars and sun for audience. Oh cool Come lift the veil off mysteries,
air And make a mere wagtail take eagles on.
Of the desert! Let it be mine too to share
In silence and heart‐glow, rapture and grace. The times have changed; so have their signs.
New is the music, and so are the instruments.
[Translated by V.G. Kiernan] The magic of the West has been exposed,
And the magician stands aghast.
1 Two lines, “Despair not…confidants of God,” The politics of the ancient regime
have been provided by the editors since the Are in disgrace: world is tired of kings.
The age of capitalism has passed, Rescue me and grant me mobility.
The juggler, having shown his tricks, has Tell me about the mysteries of life and death,
gone. For Your eye spans the universe.
The Chinese are awaking from their heavy The sleeplessness if my tear‐shedding eyes;
sleep. The restless yearnings hidden in my heart;
Fresh springs are bubbling forth from The prayerfulness of my cries at midnight;
Himalayan heights. My melting into tears in solitude and
Cut open is the heart of Sinai and Faran, company;
And Moses waits for a renewed theophany. My aspirations, longings and desires;
The Muslim, zealous though about God’s My hopes and quests; my mind that mirrors
unity, the times
Still wears the Hindu’s sacred thread around (A field for thought’s gazelles to roam);
his heart. My heart, which is a battlefield of life,
In culture, mysticism, canon law Where legions of doubt war with faith—
And dialectical theology— O Saki, these are all my wealth;
He worships idols of non‐Arab make. Possessing them, I am rich in my poverty.
The truth has been lost in absurdities, Distribute all these riches in my caravan,
And in traditions is this ummah rooted still. And let them come to some good use.
The preacher’s sermon may beguile your
In constant motion is the sea of life.
heart,
All things display life’s volatility.
But there is no sincerity, no warmth in it.
It is life that puts bodies forth,
It is a tangled skein of lexical complexities,
Just as a whiff of smoke becomes a flame.
Sought to be solved by logical dexterity.
Unpleasant to it is the company
The Sufi, once foremost in serving God,
Of matter, but it likes to see
Unmatched in love and ardency of soul,
Its striving to improve itself.
Has got lost in the maze of Ajam’s ideas:
It is fixed, yet in motion, straining at
At half‐way stations is this traveller stuck.
The leash to get free of the elements.
Gone out is the fire of love. O how sad!
A unity imprisoned in diversity,
The Muslim is a heap of ashes, nothing more.
It is unique in every form and shape.
O Saki, serve me that old wine again, This world, this sex‐dimensioned idol‐house,
Let that old cup go round once more. This Somnat is all of its fashioning.
Lend me the wings of Love and make me fly. It is not its way to repeat itself:
Turn my dust to fireflies that flit about. You are not I, I am not you.
Free young men’s minds from slavery, With you and me and others it has formed
And make them mentors of the old. Assemblies, but is solitary in their midst.
The millat’s tree is green thanks to your sap: It shines in lightning, in the stars,
You are its body’s breath. In silver, gold and mercury.
Give it the strength to vibrate and to throb; Its is the wilderness, its are the trees,
Lend it the heart of Murtaza, the fervour of Its are the roses, its are the thorns.
Siddiq. It pulverises mountains with its might,
Drive that old arrow through its heart And captures Gabriel and houris in its noose.
Which will revive desire in it. There is a silver‐grey, brave falcon here,
Blest be the stars of Your heavens; blest be Its talons covered with the blood of
Those who spend their nights praying to You. partridges,
Endow the young with fervent souls; And over there, far from its nest,
Grant them my vision and my love. A pigeon helplessly aflutter in a snare.
I am a boat in a whirlpool, stuck in one place.
Stability is an illusion of eyes, It is unlimited both ways.
For every atom in the world pulsates with Swept on by the waves of time’s stream,
change. And at the mercy of their buffeting,
The caravan of life does not halt anywhere, It yet changes the course of its quest
For every moment life renews itself. constantly,
Do you think life is great mystery? Renewing its way of looking at things.
No, it is only a desire to soar aloft. For it huge rocks are light as air:
It has seen many ups and downs, It smashes mountains into shifting sand.
But likes to travel rather than to reach the Both its beginning and its end are journeying,
goal; For constant motion is its being’s law.
For travelling is life’s outfit: it It is a ray of light in the moon and
Is real, while rest is appearance, nothing A spark in stone. It dwells
more. In colours, but is colourless itself.
Life loves to tie up knots and then unravel It has nothing to do with more or less,
them. With light and low, with fore and aft.
Its pleasure lies in throbbing and in fluttering. Since time’s beginning it was struggling to
When it found itself face to face with death, emerge,
It learned that it was hard to ward it off. And finally emerged in the dust that is man.
So it descended to this world, It is in your heart that the Self has its abode,
Where retribution is the law, As the sky is reflected in the pupil of the eye.
And lay in wait for death.
To one who treasures his self, bread
Because of its love of duality,
Won at the cost of self‐respect is gall.
It sorted all things out in pairs,
He values only bread he gains with head held
And then arose, host after host,
high.
From mountains and from wilderness.
Abjure the pomp and might of a Mahmud;
It was a branch from which flowers kept
Preserve your self, do not be an Ayaz.
Shedding and bursting forth afresh.
Worth offering is only that prostration which
The ignorant think that life’s impress is
Makes all others forbidden acts.
Ephemeral, but it fades only to emerge anew.
This world, this riot of colours and of sounds,
Extremely fleet‐footed,
Which is under the sway of death,
It reaches its goal instantly.
This idol‐house of eye and ear,
From time’s beginning to its end
In which to live is but to eat and drink,
Is but one moment’s way for it.
Is nothing but the Self’s initial stage.
Time, chain of days and nights, is nothing but
O traveller, it is not your final goal.
A name for breathing in and breathing out.
The fire that is you has not come
What is this whiff of air called breath? Out of this heap of dust.
A sword, and selfhood is that sword’s sharp You have not come out of this world;
edge. It has come out of you.
What is the self? Life’s inner mystery, Smash up this mountainous blockade,
The universe’s waking up. Go further on and break out of
The self, drunk with display, is also fond This magic ring of time and space.
Of solitude;—an ocean in a drop. God’s lion is the self;
It shines in light and darkness both; Its quarry are both earth and sky.
Displayed in individuals, yet free from them. There are a hundred worlds still to appear,
Behind it is eternity without For Being’s mind has not drained
Beginning, and before it is Of its creative capabilities.
Eternity without an end;
All latent worlds are waiting for releasing At last its own nesting‐place is scorched by
blows the restless lightning it cannot still:
From your dynamic action and exuberant To them the trade‐wind belongs, the sky‐way,
thought. to them the ocean, to them the ship—
It shall not serve them to calm the whirlpool
It is the purpose of the revolution of the
by which their fate holds them in its grip!
spheres
But now a new world is being born, while this
That your selfhood should be revealed to you.
old one sinks out of sight of men,
You are the conqueror of this world
This world the gamblers of Europe turned
Of good and evil. How can I tell you
into nothing else than a gambling‐den.
The whole of your long history?
That man will still keep his lantern burning,
Words are but a strait‐jacket for reality:
however tempests blow strong and cold,
Reality is a mirror, and speech
Whose soul is centred on high, whose temper
The coating that makes it opaque.
the Lord has cast in the royal mould.
Breath’s candle is alight within my breast,
But my power of utterance cries halt. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]
Should I fly even a hairbreadth too high,
The blaze of glory would burn up my wings.
THE ANGELS BID FAREWELL TO ADAM
[Translated by M. Hadi Husain] You have been given the restlessness of Day
and Night,
TIME We know not whether you are made of clay
or mercury;
What was, has faded: what is, is fading: but of
We hear you are created from clay,
these words few can tell the worth;
But in your nature is the glitter of Stars and
Time still is gaping with expectation of what
Moon.
is nearest its hour of birth.
Your sleep would be preferable over much
New tidings slowly come drop by drop from
wakefulness
my pitcher gurgling of time’s new sights,
If you could behold your own beauty even in
As I count over the beads strung out on my
a dream!
threaded rosary of days and nights.
Your morning sighs are invaluable
With each man friendly, with each I vary, and
For they are the water to your ancient tree.
have a new part at my command:
Your melody unravels the secret of life
To one the rider, to one the courser, to one the
For it is Nature that has attuned your organ.
whiplash of reprimand.
If in the circle you were not numbered, was it [Translated by the Editors] 1
your own fault or mine?
To humour no‐one am I accustomed to keep
ADAM IS RECEIVED BY THE SPIRIT OF THE
untasted the midnight wine! EARTH
No planet‐gazer can ever see through my Open thy eyes and look above,
winding mazes; for when the eye Look at the streak of dawn;
That aims it sees by no lights from Heaven, Look at the veiling of the vision;
the arrow wavers and glances by. Look at the banishment unfair;
That is no dawn at the Western skyline—it is Look at the battle of hope and fear.
a bloodbath, that ruddy glow!
Await to‐morrow; our yesterday and to‐day
are legends of long ago.

From Nature’s forces their reckless science 1 Based on a translation provided by S.A. Vahid in
has stripped the garments away, until ‘Iqbal and Western Poets’ in Iqbal Poet‐Philosopher of
the East (1971), edited by Hafeez Malik.
Thine are the clouds, the rains, the skies, What doth it know about this mystery—
Thine are the winds, the storms, Who is the friend, and what is the friend’s
The woods, the mountains, the rivers are voice?
thine; The sound of music is a dirge
The world of the angels was a void; In the West’s crumbling pageant.
Look at the peopled earth, which is thine.
RUMI
Thou wilt rule it like a king; Every ear is not attuned to the word of
The stars will gaze in wonder; truth,
Thy vision will encompass the earth; As a fig suits not the palate of every bird.
Thy sighs will reach the heavens;
Look at the power of thy pain and passion. THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
The spark in thee is a radiant sun; I have mastered knowledge of both the East
A new world lives in thee; and the West,
Thou carest not for a borrowed heaven; My soul suffers still in agony.
Thy life‐blood has it concealed;
RUMI
Look at the reward of anguish and toil.
Quacks sicken you more;
Thy lyre has an eternal plaintive string, Come to us for a cure.
Panting with the passion of love;
Thou guardest eternal secrets divine, THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
And livest a life of obedient power; Thy glance of wisdom brightens my heart;
Look at the world as shaped by thy will. Explain to me the order for jihad.
* RUMI
My nature is like the fresh breeze of morn: Break the image of God by the command of
Gentle sometimes, at other times strong; God,
I give a velvet mantle to flower petals, Break the friend’s glass, with the friend’s stone.
And to prickly thorns, the sharpness of the
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
needle.
Oriental eyes are dazzled by the West;
THE MENTOR AND THE DISCIPLE Western nymphs are fairer than those in
Paradise.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
Discerning eyes bleed in pain, RUMI
For faith is ruined by knowledge in this age. Silver glisters white and new,
But blackens the hands and clothes.
RUMI
Fling it on the body, and knowledge THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
becomes a serpent; The warm‐blooded youths in schools,
Fling it on the heart, and it becomes a friend. Alas, are victims of Western magic!
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE: RUMI
Master of love; of God! When an unfledged bird begins its flight,
I do remember thy noble words: It becomes a ready feline morsel.
‘Wherefrom comes this Friendly voice—
Thin, feeble, and dry as a reed?’ THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
The world today has an eternal sadness, How long this clash between church and
With neither joy, nor love, nor certitude, state?
Is the body superior to the soul?
RUMI THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
Coins may jingle at night, My peers consort with kings in court,
But gold waits for the morrow. While I am a beggar, uncovered,
bare‐headed.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
Tell me about the secret of man, RUMI
Tell how dust is a peer of the stars. To be the slave of a man with an illumined
heart,
RUMI Is better than to rule the ruler’s of’ the land.
His outside dies of an insect’s bite,
His inside roams the seven heavens. THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
I am at a loss to know the puzzle
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE Of free will and determination.
Dust with thy help has a luminous eye,
Is man’s purpose knowledge or vision? RUMI
Wings bring a hawk to Kings;
RUMI Wings bring a crow to the grave.
Man is perception; the rest is skin;
Perception is the perception of God. THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
What is the aim of the Prophet’s path—
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE The rule of the earth, or a monastery?
The East lives on through your words!
Of what disease nations die? RUMI
Prudence in our faith decrees war and
RUMI power,
Every nation that perished in the past, In the faith of Jesus—a cave and mount.
Perished for mistaking stone for incense. 1
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE How to discipline the body?
Muslims have now lost their vigour and force; And how to awaken the heart?
Wherefore are they so timid and tame?
RUMI
RUMI Be obedient, ride on the earth like a horse,
No nation meets its doom, Not like a corpse borne on shoulders.
Until it angers a man of God. 2
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE The secret of faith I do not know;
Though life is a mart without any lustre, How to believe in the Day of Judgement?
What kind of bargain doth offer some gain?
RUMI
RUMI Be the Judgement Day, and see the
Sell cleverness and purchase wonder; Judgement Day;
Cleverness is doubt; wonder is perception. This is the condition for seeing everything.

1 Four lines, “The East lives…for incense” are THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
provided by the editors since the translator had left The selfhood soars up to the skies—
them out. It preys upon the sun and the moon—
2 Two lines, “No nation…a man of God” are from
Deprived of the Presence, relying on existence,
the editorial material in What Should Then Be Done
wearied:
O People of the East (1977) by B.A. Dar:
Impoverished by its own preys.
RUMI RUMI
Love alone is fit to be hunted, Knowledge and wisdom are born of honest
But who can ever ensnare it! 1 living;
Love and ecstasy are born of honest living.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
Thou knowest the heart of the universe; THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
Tell how a nation can be strong? The world demands me to meet and mingle,
But the song is born in solitude.
RUMI
If thou art a grain, it will be picked by birds, RUMI
And if a blossom, it will be picked by Keep away from strangers, not from Him,
urchins. Wrap thyself for winter, not for spring.
Hide thy grain, and be the trap;
Hide thy blossom, and be the grass. THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
India now has no light of vision or yearning;
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE Men of illumined hearts have fallen on evil
Thou callest me to seek the heart; days.
To be a seeker of the heart, and to be in a
conflict; RUMI
My heart is in my breast, Imparting heat and light is the task of the
Like a mirror, it shows my powers. brave;
Cunning and shamelessness are the refuge
RUMI of the mean.
Thou sayest thou hast a heart
*
The heart is not below, but in the empyrean,
Thou thinkest thy heart is a heart, Thy body knows not the secrets of thy heart,
Forsaking the search for illumined hearts. And so thy sighs reach not the heights of
heaven;
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE God is disgusted with bodies without souls;
My mind soars in ethereal flights, The living God is the God of living souls.
But I grovel in the dust;
I have failed in the affairs of the world;
Kicks and buffets are my lot; GABRIEL AND IBLIS
Why is material world beyond my reach?
Why are the wise in faith, fools in the GABRIEL
world? Old friend, how goes the world of colour
and smell?
RUMI
One who can scale the heights of heaven, IBLIS
Can tread the path of earth with ease. Burning and suffering, scars and pain,
seeking and longing!
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE
What is the secret of knowledge and GABRIEL
wisdom? They are all talking about you in the
And how to be blessed with passion and celestial spheres.
pain? Could your ripped garment still be
mended?

1 The italicised lines are provided by the editors;
the translator had left them out.
IBLIS THE PRAYER‐CALL
Ah, Gabriel, you do not know this secret:
When my wine‐jug broke it turned my head. One night among the planets
I can never walk this place again! The Star of Morning said—
How quiet this region is! There are no “Has ever star seen slumber
houses, no streets! Desert Man’s drowsy head?”
One whose despair warms the heart of the “Fate, being nimble‐witted,”
universe Bright Mercury returned,
What suits him best, ‘Give up hope’ or Don’t “Served well that pretty rebel—
give up hope! Tame sleep was what he earned!”
“Have we,” asked Venus, “nothing
GABRIEL To talk about besides?
You gave up exalted positions when you Or what is it to us, where
said “No.” That night‐blind firefly hides?”
The angels lost face with God—what a “A star,” the Full Moon answered,
disgrace that was! “Is man, of terrene ray:
You walk the night in splendour,
IBLIS But so does he the day;
With my boldness I make this handful of “Let him once learn the joy of
dust rise up. Outwatching night’s brief span—
My mischief weaves the garment that reason Higher than all the Pleiades
wears.” The unfathomed dust of Man!
From the shore you watch the clash of good Closed in that dust a radiance
and evil. Lies hidden, in whose clear light
Which of us suffers the buffets of the Shall all the sky’s fixed tenures
storms—you or I? And orbits fade from sight.”
Both Khizr and Ilyas feel helpless: —Suddenly rose the prayer‐call,
The storms I have stirred up rage in oceans, And overwhelmed heaven’s lake;
rivers, and streams. That summons at which even
If you are ever alone with God, ask Him: Cold hearts of mountains quake.
Whose blood coloured the story of Adam?
I rankle in God’s heart like a thorn. But what SESTET
about you? Though I have little of rhetorician’s art,
All you do is chant ‘He is God’ over and Maybe these words will sink into your heart:
over! A quenchless crying on God through the
[Translated by Mustansir Mir] boundless sky—
A dusty rosary, earth‐bound litany—
* So worship men self‐knowing, drunk with
The mentor exhorted his disciples once: God;
Listen to my words, in value greater than So worship priest, dead stone, and mindless
gold: clod.
The Western wine is poison for the people,
When the offspring knows neither pride nor LOVE
skill.
The martyrs of Love are not Muslim nor
[Translated by Naim Siddiqui] Paynim,
The manners of Love are not Arab nor Turk!
Some passion far other than Love was the
power
That taught Ghazni’s high ruler to dote on his Am I in my land or in banishment?
slave. The vastness of this desert fills me with fright.
When the spirit of Love has no place on the I know not the enigma of this life of mine;
throne, I know not where to find one who knows.
All wisdom and learning vain tricks and Avicenna wonders where he came from;
pretence! And Rumi wonders where he should go.
Paying court to no king, by no king held in With every wayfarer I pace a little;
awe, I know not yet who my leader is 1.
Love is freedom and honor, whose scorn of
the world
A LETTER FROM EUROPE
Holds more than the magic that made We venture not beyond the shores—
Alexander Being to the senses confined.
His fabulous mirror—its magic makes man. But Rumi is an ocean,
[Translated by V.G. Kiernan] Stormy, mysterious.
Iqbal! Thou, too, art moving
THE STAR’S MESSAGE In that band of men—
That band of men of passion,
I fear not the darkness of the night;
Of which Rumi is the guide.
My nature is bred in purity and light;
Rumi, they say,
Wayfarer of the night! Be a lamp to thyself;
Is the guiding light for freedom;
With thy passion’s flame, make thy darkness
Has he, indeed, a message,
bright.
For the age we live in?
REPLY 2
TO JAVID
“Eat not hay and corn like donkeys;
(On receiving his first letter in London) Eat of thy choice like the musk‐deer;
Build in love’s empire your hearth and your He dies who eats hay and corn,
home; He who eats God’s light, becomes the Quran.”
Build Time anew, a new dawn, a new eve! [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]
Your speech, if God give you the friendship of
Nature, AT NAPOLEON’S TOMB
From the rose and tulip’s long silence weave. Strange, strange the fates that govern
No gifts of the Franks’ clever glass‐bowers This world of stress and strain,
ask! But in the fires of action
From India’s own clay mould your cup and Fate’s mysteries are made plain.
your flask. The sword of Alexander
My songs are the grapes on the spray of my Rose sun‐like form that blaze
vine; To make the peaks of Alwand
Distil from their clusters the poppy‐red wine! Run molten in its rays.
The way of the hermit, not fortune, is mine; Action’s loud storm called Timur’s
Sell not your soul! In a beggar’s rags shine. All‐conquering torrent down—
[Translated by Javid Iqbal] And what to such wild billows
Are fortune’s smile or frown?
PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION
Wherefore this succession of day and night?
And what are the sun and the starry heavens? 1 The italicized lines are from Ghalib in Urdu.
2 These lines are from Rumi in Persian.
The prayers of God’s folk treading But pray tell me if it is by Your permission
The battlefield’s red sod, That the angels bestow riches upon the
Forged in that flame of action worthless ones?
Become the voice of God!
But only a brief moment
Is granted to the brave— TO THE PUNJAB PEASANT
One breath or two, whose wage is
What is this life of yours, tell me its mystery—
The long nights of the grave.
Trampled in dust is your ages‐old history!
Then silence at last the valley
Deep in that dust has been smothered your
Of silence is our goal,
flame—
Beneath this vault of heaven
Wake, and hear dawn its high summons
Let our deeds’ echoes roll! 1
proclaim!
[Translated by V.G. Kiernan] Creatures of dust from the soil may draw
bread:
MUSSOLINI
Not in that darkness is Lifeʹs river fed!
What is the originality of thought and Base will his metal be held, who on earth
action?—a taste for revolution. Puts not to trial his innermost worth!
What is the originality of thought and Break all the idols of tribe and of caste,
action?—the age of youth for a nation. Break the old customs that fetter men fast!
Originality of thought and action creates Here is true victory, here is faithʹs crown—
miracles of life: One creed and one world, division thrown
It turns pebbles into ruby stones. down!
O Great Rome! Your conscience has changed Cast on the soil of your clay the heartʹs seed:
altogether: Promise of harvest to come, is that seed!
Is this a dream I see or is this for real!
Your old have the gleam of life in their eyes;
NADIR SHAH OF AFGHANISTAN
The flame of desire warms up the hearts of Laden with pearls departed from the
your young. presence‐hall of God
This warmth of love, this longing and this That cloud that makes the pulse of life stir in
self‐expression: the rose‐budʹs vein
Flowers cannot hide themselves in the season And on its way saw Paradise, and trembled
of Spring. with desire
Songs of passion fill your air now— That on such exquisite abode it might descend
The instrument of your nature was awaiting in rain.
someone to play on it! A voice sounded from Paradise: “They wait
Whose benevolent eye has graced this miracle for you afar,
upon you? Kabul and Ghazni and Herat, and their new‐
He whose vision is like the light of the Sun! springing grass;
Scatter the tear from Nadirʹs eye on the
poppyʹs burning scar,
A QUESTION
That never more may be put out the poppyʹs
A self‐respecting tramp was saying to the glowing fire!”
Almighty:
I dare not complain for my woes of poverty;

1 The italicised lines are from Hafiz of Shiraz in
Persian.
THE LAST TESTAMENT OF KHUSH‐HAL Chains may hold fast the men of Tartary,
KHAN KHATTAK 1 But Godʹs firm purposes no bonds endure
Is this what life holds—that Turaniaʹs peoples
Let the tribes be lost in the unity of the nation, All hope in one another must abjure?
So that the Afghans gain prestige! Call in the soul of man a new fire to birth!
The youth to whom the stars are not out of Cry a new revolution over the earth!”
bounds
Are the ones I love indeed—
In no way is this child of the mountains WORLDS APART
Inferior to the Mughal.
May I tell you my secret, O Comrade: When the heart is enlightened,
Khush‐hal Khan would much like that his It is blessed with an inward eye.
burial place The initiate has a different level
Be far from the reaches of the dust blown by Of space and time in each position.
the Mughal cavalry, The mullah’s and the crusader’s azan,
Carried by the mountain wind. The same in words, are apart in spirit.
The vulture and the eagle soar
[Translated by the Editors] In the same air, but in worlds apart.
THE TARTARʹS DREAM [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]
Prayer‐mat and priestly turban have turned ABU AL ‘ALA AL‐MA‘ARRI 3
footpad,
With wanton boysʹ bold glances men are It is said that Ma‘arri never ate meat;
flattered; He lived on fruit and vegetables.
The Churchʹs mantle and the creed in shreds, A friend sent him a roasted partridge,
The robe of State and nation torn and tattered. To allure that clever gentleman into eating
I cling to faith but may its spark not soon meat.
Lie quenched under these rubbish‐heaps When Ma‘arri saw that elegant tray
thick‐scattered! He, the author of Ghufran 4 and Lazumat 5 said,
Bokharaʹs humble dust and Samarkandʹs “O You helpless little bird, would you tell me
The turbulent billows of many winds have your sin
battered. For which this punishment has been awarded
A gem set in a ring of misery to you?
That circles me on every side, am I. 2 Alas, you did not become a falcon;
Your eye did not perceive the directives of
Suddenly quivered the dust of Samarkand, Nature.
And from an ancient tomb a light shone, pure It is the eternal decree of the Judge sitting in
As the first gleam of daybreak, and a voice Judgement on destinies—
Was heard:—“I am the spirit of Timur! That weakness is a crime punishable by death.

[Translated by M. Munawwar Mirza]
1 Iqbal’s note—Khush‐hal Khan Khattak was a
well‐known patriotic poet of Pushto who forged a
union of Afghan tribes of the Frontier to liberate
Afghanistan from the Mughals. Only the Afridis
among the tribes remained on his side till the last. 3 Iqbal’s note‐‐ Abu al ‘Ala al‐Ma‘arri, a famous
About a hundred of his poems were published in Arabic poet.
translation from London in 1862. 4 Iqbal’s note—Risala tul Ghufran is the title of a
2 Iqbal’s note—This couplet is anonymous. famous book by him.
Nasiruddin Tusi quoted it, probably in Sharah 5 Iqbal’s note—Lazumat is the collection of his
Isharat. panegyrics.
CINEMA FAQR
Cinema—or new fetish‐fashioning, There is a faqr that teaches the hunter to be a
Idol‐making and mongering still? prey;
Art, men called that olden voodoo— There is another that opens the secrets of
Art, they call this mumbo‐jumbo; mastery over the world.
That—antiquityʹs poor religion: There is a faqr that is the root of needfulness
This—modernityʹs pigeon‐plucking; and misery among nations;
That—earthʹs soil: this—soil of Hades; There is another that turns mere dust into
Dust, their temple; ashes, ours. elixir.

TO THE PUNJAB PIRS THE SELF
I stood by the Reformerʹs tomb: that dust
Barter not thy selfhood for silver and gold;
Whence here below an orient splendour
Sell not a burning flame for a spark half‐cold;
breaks,
So says Firdowsi, the poet of vision and grace,
Dust before whose least speck stars hang their
Who brought to the East the dawn of brighter
heads,
days:
Dust shrouding that high knower of things
Be not a churl for filthy lucre’s sake,
unknown
Count not thy coppers, whatever they may make.
Who to Jehangir would not bend his neck,
Whose ardent breath fans every free heartʹs [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]
ardour,
SEPARATION
Whom Allah sent in season to keep watch
In India on the treasure‐house of Islam. The sun is weaving with golden thread
I craved the saintsʹ gift, other‐worldliness A mantle of light about earthʹs head;
For my eyes saw, yet dimly. Answer came: Creation hushed in ecstasy,
“Closed is the long roll of the saints; this Land As in the presence of the Most High.
Of the Five Rivers stinks in good menʹs What can these know—stream, hill, moon,
nostrils. star—
Godʹs people have no portion in that country Of separation’s torturing scar?
Where lordly tassel sprouts from monkish Mine is this golden grief alone,
cap; To this dust only is this grief known.
That cap bred passionate faith, this tassel
breeds
Passion for playing pander to Government.” MONASTERY
[Translated by V.G. Kiernan] Talking in signs and symbol is not for this age,
And I know not the art of artful sniggers;
POLITICS
No more are those who said: Rise, in God’s name!
Ranks must be determined for this game; The ones alive are sweepers and grave‐diggers.
Let you be the firzine and I the pawn by the
grace of the chess‐player.
The pawn, indeed, is an insignificant token, SATAN’S PETITION
Even the farzine is not privy to the chess‐
To the Lord of the universe the Devil said:—
player’s strategy.
A firebrand Adam grows, that pinch of dust
[Translated by the Editors] Meager‐souled, plump of flesh, in fine clothes
trussed,
Brain ripe and subtle, heart not far from dead. THE EAGLE
What the East’s sacred law made men abjure,
The casuist of the West pronounces pure; I have turned away from that place on earth
Knowest Thou not, the girls of Paradise see Where sustenance takes the form of grain and
And mourn their gardens turning wilderness? water.
For fiends its rulers serve the populace: The solitude of the wilderness pleases me—
Beneath the heavens is no more need of me! By nature I was always a hermit—
No spring breeze, no one plucking roses, no
[Translated by V.G. Kiernan] nightingale,
And no sickness of the songs of love!
BLOOD
One must shun the garden‐dwellers—
If blood is warm in the body, there is no fear They have such seductive charms!
nor anxiety, The wind of the desert is what gives
And the heart is free of tribulations. The stroke of the brave youth fighting in
The one who has received this bounty battle its effect.
Is neither greedy for wealth nor miserable in I am not hungry for pigeon or dove—
poverty. For renunciation is the mark of an eagle’s life.
To swoop, withdraw and swoop again
FLIGHT
Is only a pretext to keep up the heat of the
The tree said to a bird of the desert one day: blood.
“Creation is founded on the principle of injustice; East and West ‐these belong to the world of
For the Creation could have been so much the pheasant,
more pleasant The blue sky—vast, boundless—is mine!
If I had also been granted the gift of flight.” I am the dervish of the kingdom of birds—
The bird gave him a good reply: The eagle does not make nests.
“Woe! You regard justice to be injustice;
He is not entitled to fly in this world,
Whoever is not free from earth‐rootedness.” DISCIPLES IN REVOLT
TO THE HEADMASTER Not a rushlight for us,—in our Master’s
Fine windows electric lights blaze!
The headmaster is an architect
Town or village, the Muslim’s a duffer—
Whose material is the human soul.
To his Brahmins like idols he prays.
A good advice has been left for you
Not mere gifts—compound interest these
By the sage Qa‘ani:
saints want,
Do not raise a wall against the Sun
In each hair‐shirt a usurer’s dressed,
If you wish the courtyard illuminated.”
Who inherits his seat of authority
THE PHILOSOPHER Like a crow in the eagle’s old nest.
He could fly high but he wasn’t daring and [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]
passionate,
THE LAST WILL OF HARUN RASHID
The sage remained a stranger to the secret of
Love. Harun said to his son when his hour came,
The vulture roamed around the air like an eagle, “You’ll will also pass this way some day.
But could not get acquainted with the taste of The Angel of Death is an unseen to the infidel,
a fresh prey. But it is not hidden from a Muslim’s eyes.”
TO THE PSYCHOLOGIST Though God‐gifted intellect is the lamp of an
age,
Transcend the intellect if you have courage to The freedom of thought is a Satanic concept.
do so:
There are islands hidden in the ocean of the [Translated by the Editors]
self as yet.
THE LION AND THE MULE
The secrets of this silent sea, however, do not
yield THE LION
Until you cut it with the blow of the Moses’ rod. You are so different and unlike
[Translated by the Editors] All the other dwellers of the wild and the
desert!
EUROPE Who are your parents and ancestors?
The Jewish money‐lenders, whose cunning And what is your tribe?
beats the lion’s prowess,
THE MULE
Have been waiting hopefully for long.
Perhaps your highness does not know
Europe is ready to drop like a ripe fruit,
My uncle—my motherʹs brother:
Let’s see in whose bag it goes.
He gallops like the wind, and is
—Adapted from Nietzsche The pride of the royal stable!
[Translated by the Editors] —Adapted from German
FREEDOM OF THOUGHT THE ANT AND THE EAGLE
Falling down is the destiny of that bird
THE ANT
Whose duality of nature renders him unable
I am so miserable and forlorn—
to fly.
Why is your station loftier than the skies?
Not every heart is an abode to the trusty
Gabriel, THE EAGLE
Nor can every thought ensnare the Paradise You forage about in dusty paths;
like a bird. The nine heavens are as nothing to me!
The ecstasy of thought is dangerous in a nation
Where the individuals observe no rule.

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GABRIEL’S WING

Ghazna. These verses were written in Subdued by the dexterous fiddler’s chords

[Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] If you desire then read the Persian Psalms 1 in

O, the ever‐flowing waters of Guadalquivir 1, How whimsical and indifferent

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Gabriel&#39;s Wing

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GABRIEL’S WING

Ghazna. These verses were written in Subdued by the dexterous fiddler’s chords

[Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] If you desire then read the Persian Psalms 1 in

O, the ever‐flowing waters of Guadalquivir 1, How whimsical and indifferent

You might also like

Gabriel's Wing

Gabriel's Wing