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32. |
This wonder by some glance is wrought, or Fortune’s wheel has come full round:
At last the Frankish charm has broke, the East by which in past was bound. |
By the building of my nest, this secret hid was brought to view
That for the bards that sing and chant the choice of nest is bolt from blue. |
If slave to God, you grow divine, if slave to world a beggar mean:
You are the master of your fate, so make the choice the two between. |
Of selfhood heedless never be, your gaze to self always confine:
Who knows, you mat anon become the threshold of some sacred shrine. |
O heir to creed no god but He, in you I see no sign or trace
Of mighty deeds that terror strike, your talk devoid of charm and grace. |
Your glances bold would strike the heart with awe, though sheathed within the breast:
Alas! a qalandar’s fervent zeal in you is dead and is at rest. |
Of Sanctuary’s secret hid Iqbal perhaps is well aware:
His speech and song display alike a confidential mode and air. |
Translated by: Syed Akbar Ali Shah |
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