Allama Iqbal's Poetry
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The Gift from Hijaz-Urdu


The Devil’s Conference
The Advice Of An Old Baluch To His Son
Painting and the Painter
The State Of Barzakh
A Deposed Monarch
Litany of the Damned
The Late Masud
A Voice from Beyond
What fruit will the bough of my hope bear–
Set him free of this world’s affairs
Upset this world of morn and eve,
My poor estate makes proud men covetous,
Rescue me please from wisdom’s narrowness
Iqbal said to the Shaykh of the Ka‘bah:
The old flame of desires has grown cold
The talk of Muslim is interesting,
The clairvoyance of the zephyr
Of love and losing what words need be said?
Why is there no storm in your sea?
If with the heart’s eye the intellect would see aright
Sometimes by rising from the ocean like a wave
The Poetic Notebook of Mullazade Zaigham of Laulab
Your springs and lakes with water pulsating and quivering...
Harder than death is what thou call’st slavery,
Downtrodden and penniless is Kashmir now;
When the enslaved people’s rage boils and they rise in...
The partridge flies with the majesty of the falcons;
The dissolute know the Sufi’s accomplishments
Come out of the monastery and play the role of Shabbir
Thou think’st it a mere drop of blood; well
When flowers’ bookshop opened in the garden
The freeman’s veins are firm as veins of granite
All of the self dwell ignorant, whether by Light touched...
Nations in whom life marches to action
It is the sign of living nations
How heretically do you play the game of life?
The ways of the West are calculating, the ways of the East...
O land of charming and sweet flowers what need is there to...
Self-awareness has made the mujahid forget his body,
Nourish that lofty will and burning heart,
I walk lonely the earth; hear my lament,
To Sir Akbar Hyderi the Chief Minister Of Hyderabad Deccan
Husain Ahmad
The Human Being

The Advice Of An Old Baluch To His Son

Winds of these wasteland be your love! Bokhara,
Delhi, are worth no more. Like running water
Go where you will: these desert plains are ours, and
Ours are these valleys.
Honour, that high thing in a world of troubling,
Sets on the hermit’s head Darius’ crown. How
Glass is forged flint-hard—this strange craft they tell of
Learn from some master!
Fortunes of States through individual prowess
Ripen, each man one star of their ascendant:
Ocean withholds her treasure when the diver
Groping for pearlshells
Clings by land’s margin. To the Muslim freedom
Gained at the price of casting off religion
Makes an ill bargain! In our world, where once more
Civilization looses its wild beasts, in one more encounter
Spirit and flesh meet; on the true-believer’s
Manhood God’s trust lies—the machines of Europe Satan’s alliance.
Who knows the nation’s fates?—but signs abound, if
Muslims are wakeful. From your buried fathers
Ask pride of action; do not fear—
a king may smile on a beggar.

Translated by: Kamal M. Habib
The Advice Of An Old Baluch To His Son

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