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*March, 1907 |
Time has come for openness, Beloved’s Sight will be common
The secret which silence had concealed, will be unveiled now |
O Cup‑bearer! Time has gone when wine was taken secretly
The whole world will be tavern, everyone will be drinking |
Those who once wandered insane, will return to habitations
Lovers’ wandering will be the same but deserts will be new |
The Hijaz’ silence has proclaimed to the waiting ear at last
The covenants established with desert’s inhabitants will be re‑affirmed |
Which coming out of deserts had overturned the Roman Empire
I have heard from the Qudsis that the same lion will be re-awakened |
As the cup‑bearer mentioned me in the wine‑drinkers’ assembly
The tavern’s sage said, “He is insolent, he will be disgraced” |
O Western world’s inhabitants, God’s world is not a shop!
What you are considering genuine, will be regarded counterfeit |
Your civilization will commit suicide with its own dagger
The nest built on the frail branch will not be durable |
The caravan of the feeble ants will make fleet of rose petals
However strong the ocean waves’ tumult be it will cross the ocean |
The poppy, roaming in the garden, shows its spots to every flower-bud
Knowing that by this exhibition it will be counted among the Lovers |
O Sight! That was the One you showed us as a thousand
If this is your state what will be your credibility? |
As I told the turtledove one day the free of here are treading on dust!
The buds started saying that I must be the knower of the garden’s secrets! |
There are thousands of God’s Lovers, who are roaming in the wilderness
I shall adore the one who will be the lover of God’s people |
This is the world’s custom, O Heart! Even winking is a sin
What will our respect be if you will be restless here? |
In the darkness of the night I shall take out my tired caravan
My sigh will be shedding sparks my breath will be throwing f lames |
If there is nothing but show in the aim of your life
Your destruction from the world will be in a breath like spark |
Do not ask about the condition of Iqbal, he is in the same state
Sitting somewhere by the wayside he must be waiting for oppression! |
Translated by: M.A.K. Khalil |
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